


Fleur Inconnue

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: F/M, Genderbend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Sinbad and Ja'far met. Two years, and Sinbad still is shocked when in a battle, a sword slices through the binding-apparent on his partner's chest, revealing a rather sizable, uh, rack. Assassins are really good at keeping secrets, or so it seems. AU, female!Ja'far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's inevitable, she supposes. 

 

When they're ambushed outside of a dungeon, already exhausted and at their limits, it's all the more inevitable that she would be careless. It's inevitable that she would let someone get _close enough_ to make this happen--though in the long run, it definitely was going to happen, anyway (even if it's been two years and Sinbad still hasn't noticed or asked about it if he _has--_ then again, when they originally met, it wasn't as if she had much to even _hide_ ).

 

The sword's blade slides straight up the side of her tunic, nicking beneath her arm, and Ja'far scowls spinning to rather violently shove one of her own blades between the man's eyes. He's felled in an instant, but the damage is done--something she realizes all too acutely when her chest heaves from exertion, and not _only_ is her shirt slit up the side and threatening to fall off, but the bandages tightly binding her rather _ample_ bosom are falling off all in quick succession. 

 

God.

 

Dammit.

 

For quite a while, Sinbad doesn’t notice. There’s plenty to do, disposing of the men who have the _gall_ , the _idiocy_ to try and ambush a pair of dungeon conquerors, and Sinbad has his hands full felling man after man, only relaxing when the last one is dead. “It’s them, all right,” he says in disgust, tearing off the cheap disguises the men are wearing, revealing the insignia of a local warlord underneath. “Looks like we’re going to have to play Lord Imshi another visit, eh, Ja’far?”

 

He turns, holding up a bit of the uniform, only for the grin to slide off his face. Ja’far is _wounded_ , is holding his chest, and there’s blood--

 

Ah, no, it’s apparent with another look that there’s little of his own blood, and Ja’far looks merely annoyed rather than in pain, at the way his chest is attempting to fall out of his tunic.

 

Something about that isn’t quite right.

 

Sinbad backs up.

 

He blinks, eyes widening. “Ja’far,” he murmurs, stepping close, “don’t panic...but I think one of their wizards hit you with one _hell_ of a spell.”

 

She's following an idiot.

 

Admittedly, Ja'far has known that for awhile. For as intelligent and keen-minded Sinbad can be, for as surprisingly well- _learned_ as he is, Sinbad still is an idiot about the most basic of things, and right now there is no better proof of it. 

 

"No," she sighs, tossing her blades to the ground as she simply turns her back, yanking her torn tunic off entirely to simply make it into a makeshift binding instead. "They didn't." 

 

Sinbad strips off his tunic without a second thought, hurrying close and holding it out. “Ah, I don’t mean to argue, but I’m _pretty_ good at spotting when a pair like that is in my vicinity,” he teases. “I think I’d have noticed. It’s fine, I’m sure we can get you fixed up soon--if you want to, I mean, it might be fun to play around first. That’s what _I’d_ do.”

 

The _look_ Ja'far shoots him is as deadpan as anything. "It's called binding." She snatches the clothing away regardless, yanking it on without a second thought. Yep, this is about as awkward as she always imagined it to be. "Believe it or not, but you aren't the most observant person at times."

 

It’s the _awkwardness_ more than anything that tells Sinbad what he’s somehow missed. If Ja’far had been changed by a wizard he’d expect anger, embarrassment, but not the dull flush of resignation this looks like. He sits down on a tree stump heavily, looking up in confusion. “How long? No, wait, that’s too stupid even for me. _Why_?”

 

"… Why not?" Ja'far bends, scooping up her discarded blades with a snort. "Living as  a man is much easier. Being an _assassin_ is much easier. I've passed without question for the past two years with _you_ , so I think that is proof enough."

 

“Are you saying I wouldn’t have respected you if I knew?” Sinbad demands, while trying to wrap his head around the fact, replaying scenes from the last two years with growing horror. “Or that you would have been unsafe with me?”

 

Ja'far settles for staring again, annoyed. "It has nothing to do with you. Do you think I started pretending to be a boy when I met _you?"_

 

“I don’t know, I’ve only just now found out that you’ve been lying to me since the day we met!” Sinbad doesn’t remember getting to his feet, but he’s there now, face flushed in frustration. “After two years, you didn’t trust me? When I’ve told you everything, always?”

 

Her brow furrows, now decidedly _confused_. "… What does this have to do with _trust?_ It just never came up, what does it change between us, anyway? I've lived as a boy since my parents died, I saw no reason to change that. Plus," she adds wryly, "if you knew, you probably would have blown my cover in regards to everyone else." 

 

Sinbad folds his arms, trying not to lose his temper. “That might have been true years ago, but I’ve grown up! I wouldn’t--things would have changed! I wouldn’t have bedded that Gaulish girl while you were in the tent, or tried to get you to--well, a dozen things. And I’d have been careful about changing in front of you.” Not that he would have _stopped_ , but it changes things.

 

"… But I don't care about any of that." Ja'far's head tilts to the side. "Why does it matter if I'm a boy or a girl in regards to any of that?" 

 

“Nothing. Forget it.” Sinbad’s eyes track down, and oh, there’s something really nice about watching his own tunic covering that ample bosom. “Wow, how did you keep those hidden this whole time? I mean, they’re...binding is all well and good, but...I mean, they’re not exactly _small_.” They’re large. And _lovely_.

 

Ja'far's face flushes in spite of herself. Really, _this_ was the part that she was dreading the most. "No. They're not. It's very uncomfortable." 

 

“You don’t...I mean, I know now. Just while we’re camped, I mean, once we’re camped, you don’t need to…” Sinbad swallows hard. “You can relax, if you want.”

 

"And if we're suddenly ambushed? Like we are every other day in this country?" Ja'far sighs, folding her arms over her chest in what she _hopes_ is a deterrent. "My face is up here, Sin." 

 

Sinbad bites back a response about how he can see her face very well, sees it every day in fact, and for those exact reasons it’s not nearly as interesting as the things that _aren’t_ on display at any given time. He wrenches his eyes up with an effort and a smile. “Sorry. Still...adjusting. I’m usually quite good at not getting caught by this sort of thing unawares, you know.”

 

A long, heavy sigh follows that. "… Can we just head back now? Masrur and Hinahoho are probably wondering what is keeping us." 

 

It bothers Sinbad, that she sounds so dismissive of him when _he_ thinks he’s taken this whole affair rather well. “I’ll keep your secret,” he says, attempting to sound gallant even now. “No matter what happens, even if it’s that or my life. You _can_ trust me, Ja’far.”

 

Ja'far blinks back at him. "All right. But you don't need to die for it or anything. It's just more convenient walking around as a boy, honestly. Less questions, _far_ less attention." 

 

_Sin, I think you’re trying too hard._

 

All the fight goes out of Sinbad, and his shoulders slump. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go back to camp.”

 

Ja'far shakes off the urge to ask _what's the matter with you?_ and simply nods instead. Of course Sinbad would be acting a little strange about this. She's expected that for awhile now.

 

"I don't think Hinahoho knows," she offers on their way back, head tilting contemplatively. "But Masrur does." 

 

Sinbad rolls his eyes, at this point just giving up. “Of course he does. Weird Fanalis kid. I won’t tell Hinahoho if you don’t want him to know, and...hmm. I don’t think his tribe likes their women to fight, so we might not want him to know.” He grins, carefree once again, clapping an arm around Ja’far as he had the first night he’d “adopted” the “boy”. “Stick with me, kid, and I’ll keep you safe.”

 

Ja'far's brow furrows at that. "… But I'm not part of his tribe. Either way, if that's the case, then you need to let me bind these things properly before we get back." She pauses. "Actually, never mind. He'll figure it out now, you'll be staring all the time."

 

“I wouldn’t do that!” Sinbad withdraws his arm, irritated. “You always think the worst of me. I’ll show you. I’ll be so well-behaved, you won’t even believe it’s me!” Fortunately, Sinbad doesn’t mind irony at his own expense.

 

Ja'far supposes she _is_ being a bit judgmental. "… All right," she slowly allows, slowing to a stop, and promptly making to pull Sinbad's tunic up and off. "Then like I said, give me a chance to fix these things."

 

Sinbad’s face colors, and he turns away. “I said I was going to be well-behaved, not that I’m looking to be made a saint,” he mutters, and catches the tunic, climbing back into it in an effort to keep himself distracted. She’s a friend, just a friend, he tries to tell himself. He’s never been attracted before ( _lies_ , whispers his mind), so he shouldn’t be now.

 

At that, Ja'far shrugs, ripping the remains of her own tunic into a better semblance of bandages. "You're no saint, I know that well. I--" A long-suffering sigh, and she simply turns full-on to face him. "Here, just look already. Get it out of your system, realize they're nothing spectacular and move on."

 

“Nope, I don’t need to,” Sinbad stubbornly insists. “You’re a woman and my friend, and that’s normal for me in people I don’t sleep with, or at least will be from now on, and I don’t need to look at your chest because if they’re really nice, I….I bet they’re really nice, aren’t they?”

 

"I'm not standing here topless for my health. Just _look_ already, better now than when we're at camp and you're constantly trying to peer down my shirt." 

 

Sinbad slowly turns, and bites his lip at the sight. He glares up at her, folding his arms over his chest. “That was a mean lie. They’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

 

"You're insane," Ja'far flatly tells him, and proceeds to finish ripping up her own tunic. "They're just breasts, there's nothing good about them. Some warrior tribes have realized that, and cut them off. Maybe I should, too." 

 

Sinbad goes white, and he hastens forward, grabbing her arms in his hands. “Don’t. _Don’t_. Swear you won’t, they’re the best I’ve ever seen, I just want to--look, just swear you won’t, I’ll slit my own throat if you do.”

 

"… It was a joke," Ja'far slowly manages in reply. 

 

Sinbad heaves a huge sigh of relief, probably far larger than the response warrants, but the image was so _frightening_. “Good. Thank you. They _are_ magnificent, though, just so you know. The things I would do to those…” Where are her eyes, again?

 

"Sin." Really, she should have known that he couldn't just _look_ and get over it. "Sin, you can let me go now. I don't want to know about what you'd do to them, and I am quite certain you've seen better." 

 

 

Sinbad slowly lets his eyes track up, trying to stop thinking of burying himself into that beautiful chest, sucking and nibbling and caressing, and ah, they’re not just large, they’re _firm_ , and _soft_ , with a nice shape to them, and he just wants to see if they taste as nice as they--

 

_This is Ja’far, not some random harlot. Pull yourself together!_

 

With an effort of will, Sinbad releases her arms. “Sorry. I’m done. Though you’re wrong, I’ve never seen better.”

 

There's no point in arguing. Ja'far sighs heavily, and the first stretch and wrap of her makeshift binding already makes her chest substantially smaller. "Well… thank you? I think. Now that you've had your fill, please don't stare at them any more."

 

“I’ll do as you say,” Sinbad warns, “and I won’t stare at them any more than I can help. But…” He grins, leaning in to chuck her on the chin like he’s done a hundred times since he’d picked up a lonely assassin kid. “I doubt I’ll ever have my fill.”

 

Sinbad behaves himself.

 

For a while, at least.

 

He can’t really be held to blame for how sometimes when they’re on a mission his gaze wanders, or sometimes at night when he’s stroking furtively under the blankets he wonders what it would be like to squeeze and stroke that soft skin, or how he makes excuses to walk behind Ja’far, or atop a commandeered wagon while she drives so he can look down her tunic.

 

But really, he’s behaving himself. Not a word, not a touch, not a look that she can see.

 

And one night, if he has far too much to drink and Hinahoho has passed out after telling campfire stories with Masrur snoring lightly at his side, he can’t really be blamed for trying to tug Ja’far onto his lap under the guise of body warmth. “It’s cold tonight,” he murmurs, hands a little grabby and eager. “You’ll get sick, come sit on me.”

 

It isn't the first time Sinbad has tried to do this. Even when the man thought she was a _boy_ , he'd tried to do things like this--though he was normally quite a bit more drunk for that to happen. Not that he's exactly sober right now, but… 

 

"I won't get sick, I'm good with the cold," Ja'far hushedly protests, trying to squirm her way away from those grabbing hands. "Sin, stop it, I'm supposed to keep watch tonight." 

 

Sinbad takes another long, _long_ swig of wine, feeling it burn down his throat to warm his belly, using his other hand to hold Ja’far onto his lap with an arm like steel. “Doesn’t matter, nothing _ever_ happens at night, it’s too cold for killing. Come on, keep _me_ from getting sick.”

 

Ja'far flops back against his chest with a solid thump, huffing out a hard breath in a mix of irritation and resignation. "Drunkard," she mutters, squirming a bit to try and at least stay on his knee and not between his damned legs. "You're never sick, either." 

 

“The wine kills my sickness.” Sinbad leans forward, breath hot against the side of Ja’far’s neck, setting the wine jug down for just long enough to slide a hand up to Ja’far’s chest, hovering around the side of one breast. “Come, drink some medicine from my lips, let me heal you.”

 

"No." Reaching up, she firmly catches his hand by the wrist, shoving it down. "Sin, _quit it_. You said you wouldn't do this." 

 

“Not doing anything, being _nice_ ,” Sinbad murmurs, letting Ja’far’s hand steer him down, gliding up one smooth thigh. “You keep your body concealed, but I see what you’re hiding, you lovely minx, you _know_ what you do to me.”

 

 _Minx?_ That's a new one. "I know that breasts apparently make you stupid," Ja'far mutters, shoving Sinbad's hand to the _side_ next. So he's more drunk than Ja'far thought. She can deal with that. Maybe. "Let me up, you can keep yourself warm well enough."

 

“But I burn for _you_.” Sinbad buries his face in her hair, and no matter how deeply he inhales, he smells _nothing_ , nothing but the faintest tinge of soap from a washing not a few hours old. “You don’t long for me at all?” He’s already hard, pressing up against Ja’far’s ass, holding her tight. “Not a bit of that lovely body craves my touch, in the dark hours of the night?”

 

It would be an even more awkward sort of lie to say _no, not a bit._ That doesn't mean Sinbad needs to hear a damned thing about it, and besides, it's a little hard not to think just a bit along those lines, considering their history. But that's entirely besides the point, and not something Ja'far feels inclined enough to _act on_ , so this is annoying at best.

 

"There's nothing _lovely_ about it--will you let me _go?"_ She shouldn't shiver so much at feeling his cock so damnably hard against her. 

 

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.” Sinbad closes his teeth lightly around Ja’far’s ear, the wine maddening him, making him far bolder than he has any right to be, one hand coming up to cup a breast, thumbing over the nipple. “You needn’t fear me, tell me to stop and I’ll never touch you again, lovely, _fair_ , entrancing mistress of my heart.”

 

All right, that's outright _irritating_.

 

It's one thing for Sinbad to flirt with her. It's something else entirely for him to be a drunken fool when he's doing it, and talking to her like she's another one of his whores that he's paying a pretty coin for. Ja'far snorts, shoving his hand away roughly, wrenching herself free from his hold. "I told you, warm your own goddamn lap. I don't _fear you_ , I want to smack you into the damned fire. Go pay for it if you want an _entrancing mistress_." 

 

Sinbad takes another long swig of wine, then sighs dramatically, dropping down onto his back. “She toys with my heart,” he remarks to the moon. “No idea how many times I’ve grasped hold of my manhood to the thought of that milky skin, those bouncing, firm, _delicious_ breasts, no idea how many sonnets I’ve composed and torn asunder for her eyes. Do you see this, my friend?”

 

"I'm going to kick your face in," Ja'far flatly retorts, standing over him with her arms crossed. "Not only are you obnoxious, but you're obnoxiously _drunk._ Just go to sleep already so I don't have to _think_ about you."

 

“So cruel, for one so fair,” Sinbad says mournfully. “Will I need to die for you before you see how I pine? Let me get a bit more wine in me and I’ll stop talking, I’ll become a creature of base grunts for you and chase you on all fours.”

 

"… Right. I'm going to go start my watch."

 

Sinbad drains the jug, which is silly, since the wine doesn’t even _affect_ him. He lurches to his feet, nearly falling into the fire--could happen to anyone, the fire’s in a dangerous location--and fills his hands with Ja’far’s ass, squeezing happily. “Your body wants me, even if you don’t. Look, it calls to me.”

 

Right. She's done.

 

Ja'far twists, grabbing Sinbad by the ponytail to toss him bodily to the ground. " _Who_ said you could just grab me like that? Do you do that to the women in--you know, don't answer that," she snaps, scowling down at him. "Keep your hands off of me or I'll _cut them off_." 

 

Sinbad breathes heavily for a moment, trying to understand when everything had turned so _sideways_ , before he quite catches up. He smiles, looking up at her scowl, relaxing down. “I’m sorry. I’m a pervert. You’re quite right.”

 

Ja'far's eyes narrow. "Yes. I know I am. Don't smile at me like that, Sin, it's not going to get your hands on me any faster."

 

Sinbad wiggles his fingers above his head. “Not trying to touch you. I just like to look at you. Have you ever had a man, Ja’far?”

 

Why are they having this conversation? Ja'far heaves a long-suffering sigh, rocking back onto her heels. "Why do you _care?_ Would you ask me that if I were a boy?"

 

“Yes,” Sinbad says bluntly. “The only reason I haven’t until now and didn’t when you _were_ a boy is that I thought they’d had you, your old masters. But you don’t get angry like someone who’s been trifled with.”

 

"My old masters hardly had such carnal thoughts in mind, and even if they did, it certainly wouldn't be regarding me." She frowns. "So no, to answer your question. I haven't." 

 

Sinbad frowns, staring up at her. “I don’t understand your protests. You do a very good job of pretending you think you aren’t beautiful, you know. I’d almost believe you if it weren’t so goddamn ridiculous.”

 

Ja'far's brow knits at that. "… I'm not pretending. I blend in with the sand. Not to mention I've made a passable boy for over a decade, I think that says it all. And honestly, I don't care."

 

Sinbad raises up onto his elbows, brows knitting. “But you’re _gorgeous_ ,” he says, as if it should explain everything. “God, I had trouble not looking at you when you were a boy, it’s only gotten worse.”

 

"You're drunk," is Ja'far's matter-of-fact reply. "Every girl is lovely to you when you're drunk." 

 

“But you’re _always_ pretty to me. I think about you all the time, just look at the books I keep!” Sinbad rarely lets anyone look at the books, the little scribblings of his fantasies and accounts of his adventures that he _swears_ will be published someday, but for the last month, they’ve been quite a bit more...single-focused.

 

It's almost endearing. It would be, if Ja'far wasn't firmly convinced that Sinbad's drunkenness is influencing a great deal of this. "Thank you. I think. But you're still drunk, and I still need to go keep watch. And you also need to _stop_ grabbing at me, nothing annoys me more." 

 

“Why,” Sinbad asks slowly, the words starting to slur together as he finds the idea of stirring from his back more and more difficult, “is it all right for _you_ to say _no_ , but ‘s’not all right for _me_ to say _yes_? I’d... _yes_ you, Ja’far.”

 

"I'm sure." Ja'far turns away with a snort. "Just roll your way back to bed already, I don't want to hear any more of it."

 

“I disgust her,” Sinbad sighs to the moon. “I long for her, and she hates me. Maybe she likes women.”

 

"Good _night_ , Sin." She's following around an insufferable idiot. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Hinahoho isn’t the most observant of men.

 

But he understands people most of the time, and likes to drink with them, and knows how to tell a good man from a bad at a hundred paces, and loves life like few others he knows. And he cares about his friends, even now that they’re back home, after they’ve _made_ a home, and doesn’t like seeing them suffer under the weight of secrets.

 

So he grabs Ja’far by the scruff of his neck one day, and asks him the question he’s been meaning to for, well, _years_ , really.

 

“So, who the hell is this woman Sin’s in love with?”

 

One of these days, Ja'far is really just going to have to make it clear that she doesn't like being touched out of nowhere, especially like _that_. She's already stiff and sore on the best of days--honestly, if she could unbind her chest for five minutes around this place, that would be a relief--and terribly _busy_ , all the time, on top of that. She doesn't have time for ridiculous questions, either, least of all things like _this_. 

 

"And why should I know that, exactly?" she grumbles, pulling away and straightening her keffiyeh. "Honestly, Hinahoho, why don't you simply ask him yourself?" 

 

“I _have_.” Hinahoho scowls, folding his massive arms over a larger chest. Ja’far is kind of an odd creature, more like a scurrying mouse than anything, though he sort of remembers the days when the boy was a lot less fur and a lot more teeth. “He denies it, but there’s someone that’s driving him crazy. We’ve got to come up with a plan, right? He deserves to be happy, doesn’t he?”

 

"If it's a woman that is the problem, then Sin can handle himself," Ja'far snorts, and bends to scoop up a number of scrolls before making to step away. "It seems sort of rude to pry, don't you think? If he hasn't publicly proclaimed his 'undying love', there is probably a good reason for it." 

 

“Even if it could mean more stability for the country?” Hinahoho asks, scratching his head. “My wife says Sindria won’t truly flourish as a nation until he has a woman. A steady one. I tried to bribe one of his girls to tell me what name he calls out, but she wouldn’t do it.”

 

Ja'far heaves a long sigh. "Do you really think I haven't tried to tell him as much?" she mutters, and briskly steps down the hall. "Look, just ask him directly. Or when he's drunk, I don't care. If he still won't say it, then I don't know what to tell you." 

 

She bumps the office door open with one hip, propping it open with a foot as she twists to maneuver herself and her precious cargo inside. "At any rate, aren't there a dozen more important--"

 

"Told you we should've locked the door," is the mournful sigh that sounds rather like it's coming from behind _her_ desk, and Ja'far twitches, kicking the door open, dumping the scrolls onto the desk itself, and peering over and under it at the sight of one _far_ too familiar girl, perched atop Sinbad's hips from where the two of them are sprawled over the floor. 

 

"Well," Ja'far flatly says, "here's your answer, Hinahoho."

 

Judal is _obnoxious_ at best, dangerous at her worse, and now, with her clothes nearly hanging off of her, face a little flushed, Ja'far thinks it might be easy to kill the wretch for once. _Might_.

 

“Ja’far!” Sinbad sits bolt upright, face gone pink. It’s not often he feels any sort of guilt about one of his liaisons, but, well, this is _Judal_ , and it’s in _Ja’far’s office_ besides. “I...I came in to sign those papers you left for me,” he offers mournfully. That seems like an awfully long time ago now, before Judal had showed up and covered his eyes from behind, firm young breasts pressed against his back as a surprise. Of course, he’s privately certain that Ja’far’s are larger, but if the woman never lets them out….

 

(They’re easy enough to see if he’s looking, in Sindrian robes. And Sinbad is _always_ looking.)

 

Hinahoho backs out of the room hastily. This is a fight he wants no part in.

 

Ja'far snorts, folding her arms up into her robes. " _Did you_ now? Are they signed, then?"

 

"Paperwork is boring," Judal sighs out, tugging down the scrap of material she calls a shirt down just a bit, probably more out of habit than any semblance of modesty. She pouts at Sinbad, winding her arms around his neck as she wriggles closer. "Hey, you're not gonna stop, are you? We were having fun."

 

"Oh, no, by all means, _don't stop_ because of me." Annoying, the twisting, angry flare in the pit of her stomach at the sight of them. Sinbad is an _idiot._ The Magi has proven more dangerous than useful on a dozen occasions, and for him to keep _allowing her presence_ is what boils Ja'far's blood. 

 

Sinbad looks up at Ja’far, a slow curl of frustration unfurling in his belly. Why _should_ he stop, after all? He’s won Judal’s good favor today, and she’s so _rarely_ in a good mood, a playful kitten who had just floated in through the window to sit on his lap, and….well, it’s not as if Ja’far has ever shown the slightest bit of interest.

 

(The frustration is sour, angry, desolate.)

 

“Should I stop, Ja’far?” Sinbad asks quietly, meeting those changing snake’s eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

Ja'far's lips purse. "As I said. By all means, don't think you have to stop just because _I_ arrived. _Do_ continue to risk your life like an imbecile, I'll be down the hall if you need me."

 

Judal blinks, her head tilting to the side. "… Who's risking their life?"

 

"And your brain's life prior to that. Stupidity is developed through osmosis, it seems."

 

Sinbad’s hands tighten on Judal’s waist, just in case she suddenly starts understanding what Ja’far’s talking about. “Leave it alone,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to stroke through Judal’s hair, even as every bit of his awareness is on Ja’far as she leaves. “He’s just mad that we made a mess.”

 

Judal's nose wrinkles, and she shoves her face back into Sinbad's neck, even as the door to the office slams _hard_. "Freckles is always a jerk. Hey, what are you staring at? I'm a dozen times prettier." 

 

Sinbad’s attention snaps back, and he smiles. “Of course you are, my jewel. And a dozen times sweeter to taste.”

 

But it’s impossible to forget Ja’far’s face, even as distracted as he is, and several hours later, no matter how bedraggled and sore he is, he finds his way to the clerk’s chamber, knocking slowly on the door. “Ja’far, I know you’re in there. Open up. We need to talk.”

 

The door opens, albeit merely a crack, and Ja'far stares up at the man, eyes lidded in disinterest. "With all due respect, my king, you smell like a whore. I'd rather you not bring that in here and sully my scrolls."

 

“‘Due respect’,” Sinbad repeats softly. “Either you think I’m due none, or you need to relearn what the words mean.” His eyes flash, and he shoves at the door. “My _dealings_ with the Magi are far more than _personal_. You forget this. Would you have me take our young country to war?”

 

Stubbornly, _irritably_ , Ja'far shoves back, not letting the door budge an inch. "You can keep telling yourself that all you want, _Your Majesty_ ," she snidely replies. "But what it comes down to is you enjoying a little girl's presence in your bed--or my office, as it seems; a little girl that could easily demolish this palace around us if you aren't petting her hair just right."

 

“And you think that’s a price I should pay?” Sinbad demands. “You think that if a wild and powerful young _woman_ flies onto my lap, I should sacrifice my men in war instead of satisfying her? Why? There’s no woman with a claim on me.” _No matter how I might wish otherwise._ “I offered it to you. Or maybe you fear her more than you want to admit.”

 

Ja'far scoffs outright at that. "I _think_ you should have let me kill her years ago! Instead, you were too smitten with a twelve year old and her ample bosom. And _please_ , do not make this about what you have offered _me_. The only thing I fear is that her stupidity is, indeed, transferring to you, which seems to be more and more the case these days."

 

“Then why are you still here?” Sinbad slams his hand down, sending the door flying open harder than he should, slow temper blazing hot now. “If you think me so _stupid_ , that I’d let a girl’s chest sway my mind away from my promises, how can you still follow me?”

 

There's something to be said about her chest for _padding_ , no matter how it's bound, and Ja'far stumbles back from the door, open irritation on her face. "If I left you for every _stupid_ decision you've ever made, I would have done so a million times over by now. This is certainly one of your worse ones, but it still doesn't change that you are my king."

 

Sinbad glares at her. “Well...good.” He folds his arms, suddenly wanting to look anywhere but at Ja’far, a bit uncomfortable with his own anger. “I don’t often make sacrifices to get someone in my bed, Ja’far. I don’t have to. I just have a feeling she’s _important_ , she’s hardly the woman I want to--”

 

He cuts himself off. “Never mind. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to hear that.”

 

Ja'far stares back at him, blandly annoyed. "You have Hinahoho asking me who you're so obsessed with. It isn't becoming, you know." 

 

The words are like a slap, and Sinbad looks up, blinking. “I apologize. I had no idea he was going to you with something that disturbs you so.” He steps out, bowing stiffly. “I assure you, it wasn’t done to win your pity. I gave up hope of winning anything from you years ago. Good night, Ja’far.” Maybe he’ll go to the city tonight, he thinks dully, walking away. No, that holds no joy.

 

This is becoming absolutely ridiculous.

 

Ja'far heaves a sigh, reaching out a hand to catch the end of Sinbad's ponytail and yank him back. "Are you going to throw that into my face at every opportunity? I think you've said it about ten times now in this single conversation." Her brow furrows as she lowers her hand. "When did you become so obsessed with bedding me that you were no longer interested in being my _companion?_ " 

 

“You misunderstand me.” Sinbad’s words are quiet, and he sighs out a breath. “Your companionship is not a consolation, it’s my most treasured prize, and I worked _hard_ for it.” He fumbles for words for a moment, then chooses them carefully. “Feeling as I do--it isn’t discontent with what we have. And it’s not a demand. It just...is. I can no more banish it than you could wish those same feelings for me into being.” He shrugs. “If you are my friend only until death, I will be a happy man. But don’t hate me for thinking of you in other ways, when there’s nothing I can do to _stop_ it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

 

"… Then you misunderstand, too." Ja'far frowns, folding her arms back into her robes. "I don't _hate you_ for that. The only thing I _hate_ is how obnoxiously grabby you tend to be when you are drunk… or stressed… or when you think I will, for some reason, not notice," she wryly says, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose I mostly don't understand. I am hardly a fit bedmate for a king, and there are hundreds of lovelier women, besides."

 

“But I am not just any king,” Sinbad says softly, “and you are the bedmate, the _mate_ , my heart has wanted for years.” He turns away, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “My mother used to tell me, ‘Let the world decide for itself that you’re not good enough, don’t make the job easy by getting there first.’ Let me decide who I want in my bed, won’t you?”

 

"And you're certain this isn't just because of my breasts." 

 

Sinbad raises an eyebrow. “Do you _really_ think I have seen so few breasts that one pair more or less is going to sway me for the better part of a decade?”

 

Ja'far blinks slowly. "I seem to recall you saying mine were the best you've ever seen. Ah, well." She makes to turn around and go back into the room. "If that isn't the case, then--"

 

“Do you think so little of yourself?”

 

That's an annoying question. "Hardly."

 

“So why do you think the only thing I could like about you is your breasts?” Sinbad demands. “Not your passion, your loyalty, your humor, your wit, your precision, your self-control, your smile? Were you other than you are, were you a man or a woman without a chest or a... _anything_ , as long as you were Ja’far, I would want you.”

 

And _that_ makes her waver, just a bit.

 

"… With _most_ women," she slowly replies, turning back to look at him over her shoulder, "you seem a little one-track minded. Is it so wrong of me, with that in mind, to be skeptical?"

 

“Of course it’s wrong,” Sinbad says simply. “You’re not most women. You’re Ja’far.”

 

A long, heavy sigh escapes at that, and Ja'far turns entirely around at that, lifting a hesitant hand to catch a strand of Sinbad's hair and gently tug. "You give me headaches." 

 

Sinbad gives her a sheepish grin. “And I probably will until we’re old and gray. If you’ll stay, my friend.”

 

"I have few intentions of going anywhere." She hesitates again, thinking. "I need to finish up here. And I was serious when I said you smelled like a whore. Perhaps by the time we are both done with our appointed tasks, I can pour you a glass of wine or two." 

 

Sinbad knows better, by now, than to imagine she means anything other than the most basic sort of companionship. “There’s no way I’d rather spend a night,” he says truthfully. “I’m off to the baths. I’ll come by your office when I’m through so you don’t forget in a sea of paperwork.” He starts to leave, then remembers something and steps back. “Oh, and I _did_ sign those scrolls. Neatly stacked, on your desk.”

 

"Maybe a third glass, then, for that," she murmurs, her gaze lingering a moment longer before turning away to slip back into the office. "I will see you later, then, Sin." 

 

It would be a lie, to say she's never thought about it.

 

A bald-faced lie, especially counting all of the times she's felt Sinbad staring at her like something he _covets_. A lie all the more when he's tipsy, not entirely in control of himself, dragging her close until that strong, broad chest presses against her back, or worse, during festivals, when she'll find herself snatched close against him, her chest heaving as he whirls her into an not _entirely_ unwilling dance.

 

Still. There are good reasons why she _shouldn't_ , why _they_ shouldn't--it's just a bit more difficult to remember them when Ja'far thinks of Sinbad with Judal, that treacherous Magi, and thinking that perhaps, _perhaps_ , if she would simply _let him_ , that wouldn't happen at all…

 

It's not jealousy. It's _not_. It's… wondering a dozen what-ifs, attempting to keep Sin _safe_.

 

(That being said, there's something to be said about how Judal openly flaunts her body, how Sinbad's eyes roam so appreciatively over every lean, feline curve, and how his hands do the same, grabbing and pulling, unable to help himself-- _ugh_.)

 

Now, in the solace of Sinbad's private chambers, pouring his wine and looking out from an open window over the city-- _their_ city--it makes it all the more difficult not to _think_ about it. 

 

"You want that Magi to choose you still, don't you?" 

 

For once, Judal is the last thing on Sinbad’s mind.

 

He blinks, and the view of the city flickers for a moment. He sips his wine, trying not to drink too fast, knowing how Ja’far pulls away from him when he’s drunk. “I want,” he says slowly, “to keep the option of unlimited power at my back, especially knowing how easily it could be turned against me. And I want her to straighten herself out.” He sips again, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “She asked me to choose her today, I’ve said I won’t as long as she’s with _them_.”

 

"Under the assumption she'd change if she left them, are we?" Ja'far snorts, setting down the wine jug and smoothing her robes as she neatly takes a seat upon the windowsill. "Insufferable brat."

 

“She is that,” Sinbad agrees, with a grin. “I don’t even know if she _can_ leave them. She isn’t as strong-willed as the only person I know who’s left them successfully.”

 

Ja'far offers him a bland stare. "Oh? How do you know I'm not still their assassin, plotting to kill you in your sleep?" 

 

Sinbad meets her eyes, then closes a hand over hers, tilting his head back and putting it at his throat. “I hardly think,” he says quietly, knowing she’ll feel the vibrations of his voice, “that did you intend to kill me in my sleep, you would avoid my bed as strictly as you do.”

 

Oh.

 

He needs to _not_ do that.

 

Ja'far swallows hard, her fingers curling slightly, no matter how she wills her hand to pull away. "Or perhaps it's just because your bed is always _full_. Makes for a difficult kill." 

 

“Join me once,” Sinbad says softly, eyes locking onto hers and his voice making it not _quite_ a joke, “and I’ll die happy.”

 

"… It's a bad idea." What she's told herself for as long as she can remember, at any rate, whenever the mood has struck, no matter how rare. "I'm supposed to be your advisor--your _general_. If anyone was to find out, they would use it against you."

 

“This isn’t Al-Sarmen. We don’t avoid loving people because they’re a weakness.” Sinbad closes his hand around Ja’far’s, thumb stroking over the back of her fingers. “You are not a weakness. You give me strength, no matter what you are to me. And…” He gives a little shrug. “You’re no less my weakness now.”

 

Ja'far's lips twitch, a frown furrowing her brow. _But you should avoid it, you shouldn't be so careless about who you bed, you should take a proper wife and stop being such an idiot_.

 

Well. That's everything she _wants_ to say, at any rate, but what comes out instead--"I've never… lain with a man. Or anyone." Her face flushes hot, and she makes to pull her hand away. "You'd be disappointed. Save yourself that." 

 

Sinbad tightens his grip on her hand, shifting a bit closer to her. “I’ve never been disappointed with a bedmate,” he admits, “no matter how virgin. And I’ve never cared for one of them like I do for you. Refuse me for a hundred reasons, but not to spare me.”

 

"There's a first time for everything," Ja'far protests, though it doesn't sound terribly convincing, what with how her quickening pulse leaves her breath rather unsteady. _This is_ happening _,_ she rather worriedly realizes, anxiety creeping into her expression. "I'm not… I'm nothing _like_ that Magi, or any of the other women you take to your bed--"

 

“I _know_.” Sinbad brings her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back of it. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever had, or any woman in the world. You’re _Ja’far_.”

 

If her face was red before, it simply _hurts_ now.

 

"I…" Her voice is definitely a little too breathy and soft now for protests. It's because he isn't drunk, Ja'far tells herself, and not grabbing at her like she's one of his favorite whores. It's because he's asking _nicely_ , and not trying to be a complete idiot at the same time. Another, hard swallow follows those thoughts. "… If you _do_ hate it, can we pretend it never happened?" 

 

The honest nervousness in that question hurts Sinbad’s heart to hear. Maybe, he thinks for the first time since meeting Ja’far, the problem isn’t that Ja’far doesn’t think he’s good enough. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says gently, thumb stroking over the back of one smooth hand. “But if it will set your mind at ease, yes, I’ll play any game of make-believe that you like. In all honesty, I’m far more worried about disappointing you.”

 

"I find it hard to believe that the Lady Killer of the Seven Seas could do such a thing," Ja'far mutters, her fingers curling as she looks to the side, cheeks still flushed. 

 

Sinbad laughs. “But I’ve said it a hundred times. You’re not just a lady.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers under her chin, tilting it up to meet his eyes. His pulse races more than it has since he was a teenager, and he bends down. “You’re Ja’far.” He meets her lips with his, giving her ample room to pull away if she wants, eyes closed.

 

It's definitely _nicer_ , when Sinbad isn't drunk.

 

Ja'far expects the little ache in the pit of her belly to go away once he finally kisses her, but instead, it's only worse. Hesitantly, she shifts forward, lips parting as she's kissed, her eyes lidding and a hand slowly lifting to lay against his chest. What does one _do_ when they're kissed, anyway--other than slap way grabbing hands (that aren't there, and she's not of the mind to slap them away, besides) or shove the other person away? Ja'far's fingers twitch-- _not_ trembling--before curling into the folds of his robes, a little shiver raking down her spine.

 

Ja’far’s lips are a headier taste than wine, and Sinbad’s eyes cloud over as he leans in, drunk on her in the space of a second. The feel of her lips, the curl of her fingers, the supple, pliant way she yields under his touch is intoxicating, and Sinbad can’t help but deepen the kiss, one hand sliding up to thread through her hair as he sucks softly on her bottom lip. This, he knows better than anything he’s ever known, is the start of something, and every part of him wants to see it to the end.

 

The breathy sound that leaves her throat isn't a whimper, it's--no, she just can't quite catch her breath, that's all. A soft, ragged exhale follows, and it's harder still to breathe when Ja'far shifts just a bit closer, the heat of Sinbad's body an impossible lure, the _scent_ of him suddenly in her nose all the more acutely and… 

 

A hard swallow, and Ja'far sucks in another, heaving breath as she makes to draw away, just slightly. "It's a little… ah--" _Difficult to breathe?_ A horrible excuse, when she can fight and run and do a dozen different things that require much more exertion than _this_ with her chest bound so tightly, and so Ja'far's face flames as she shrugs at her robes, unbuttoning the first few buttons of her shirt to better tug at the bandages keeping her breasts tightly bound. Annoying, _useless_ things, because that's all it takes before the mess of it all unravels, and it's certainly no easier to catch her breath, besides. 

 

Sinbad’s mouth goes dry at the sight, and he shakes his head slowly, mischief dancing in his eyes that he tries to keep reined in. He brushes another kiss to her lips, tasting tea and anxiety and something else that’s just _Ja’far_ , his hands moving down to rest on the woman’s slender waist. “I don’t know how you keep them contained with just that,” he murmurs, nodding at the slump of bandages around her midsection. “Does it hurt, to bind them? Or more when you let them free?”

 

"I'm a decent hand at _tying_ things, if you recall," she dryly quips, and her eyes lid, sliding down to where Sinbad's hands wrap about her waist. A little unnerving, how she's just now noticing how large his hands are, and how well they fit around her. "Neither is comfortable, when they're this large," Ja'far admits on a mutter. "Binding them keeps them out of the way, but my back is sore all the same…" 

 

“I can help with that.” No matter if she thinks he’s offering to hold her breasts up himself--not that he _wouldn’t_ , there’s a job he’d quit being king for any day--Sinbad stands, moving behind Ja’far and starting to work his hands gently on her shoulders and neck, eyes widening at the _tension_ there. It’s enough of a treat just to be able to touch her, no matter how innocently, without being slapped and scolded. “Where does it hurt the most?”

 

 _This_ is something she didn't expect. His hands on her, yes, but like this? Hardly. And it feels startlingly _good_ , enough that Ja'far has to bite her lip to keep back a shuddery moan her head falling forward with a heaving breath. "A..ah… um… lower neck… right now… mostly…" she mumbles. 

 

Sinbad’s hands slide down to her lower neck, thumbs stroking in slow, careful circles, pressing harder, then softer, watching her reactions to see what makes her tense up, what makes her relax. “Your skin is so pale,” he murmurs, working down her shoulderblades, out then up again, roaming everywhere then coming back to her lower neck. “It turns pink wherever I touch it.”

 

Another, pointed shiver follows those words, and Ja'far shifts, just a little, just enough to let her robes slink down further. "You say that as if you've never seen it before," she huffs, flushing more all the same. 

 

“Mmm, you’ve never let me touch you like this before,” Sinbad murmurs. He leans down, pressing his luck, and brushes a kiss across the back of her ear as his hands work, trailing down to the side of her neck, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

 

"But you've still--" Her breath hitches, and Ja'far tries very, very hard not to squirm even when his kisses start making her shiver and twitch. "You've still seen me naked--mostly--so--"

 

“It’s different.” No protest, and Sinbad nuzzles into the other side of her neck, letting his teeth scrape softly over a bit of soft skin, hands working into the tense muscles in her lower back. “You’ve seen me naked. Doesn’t it feel different to you?”

 

Now _that_ makes her squirm, makes her back arch with a little, breathy noise strangled into the back of her throat when his fingers dig into especially sore muscles and leave her trembling. "I… yes, but…" Sinbad's teeth aren't fair either, and Ja'far swallows hard. It's something akin to embarrassing, how her chest wants to heave with every breath, how _on fire_ every nerve in her body feels--are her nipples really _allowed_ to be that hard? It makes her want to rip off her shirt and be done with it, because every breath makes that fabric rub against her, makes her shiver all the more, and she bites her lip, pressing her thighs together as she tries not to wriggle where she sits. 

 

Sinbad drags his fingers down the curve of her spine, letting his hands come to rest on her waist again. “You feel much less tense already,” he murmurs, and gives her neck another little nip when he feels how much she likes it. He can almost smell her now, the surge of arousal she has to be feeling when her skin ripples like that, and he takes a chance, sliding his hands around to her belly, then up to cup her breasts, lifting the weight of them gently in his hands, thumbs stroking over the hard buds of her nipples. They’re _soft_ , firm and perfect and too much even for his large hands, and Sinbad’s breath comes out in something like a groan at the feel of them.

 

There's no stopping the whimper that slides from her throat, nor the way she helplessly sags back, eyes briefly squeezing shut at the slide of his hands. It isn't fair how much _better_ it is being touched like _this_ , not grabbed or groped or a dozen other things that make her want to _slap him_. "T-they're really…" Ja'far swallows hard, voice catching. "Sensitive. So… ah…" 

 

“It’s all right,” Sinbad says softly, making sure not to _squeeze_ , not to pull, just holding gently and caressing with his fingers. “I’ll be careful with you.” The weight of her chest in his hands is intoxicating, almost as much as the taste of her skin, and Sinbad rumbles against it, “It just makes me wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere I’ve never touched you yet.”

 

Ja'far's skin heats further at that, a flush that seems intent on making her _squirm_. "Haven't you touched me quite a few places already?" she mumbles. A glance down, and her face flushes hotter, the sight of Sinbad's hands--big and calloused and _strong_ \--holding her and touching her making her bite into her lower lip again. "H-honestly, you found out ages ago that I'm ticklish, so would it even come as a surprise?" 

 

“But I wasn’t trying to make you turn interesting colors then,” Sinbad says with a grin, and lets his hands fall to her waist, hoisting her up and lifting her easily in his arms, giving her another long kiss before letting them both tumble down to his bed. “There’s still so much of you I want to explore. I don’t know...what the insides of your thighs look like, for example.”

 

That brings about a squeak, reflex bringing her to shove a hand down between her legs and hold down the long drape of her robes even as she flops onto her back. "Is that really something you _think about?_ " Ja'far huffs, pressing her knees together no matter how her legs quiver. "My king is terribly obscene. The answer is as scarred as the rest of my legs, mind."

 

“I like your legs.” Sinbad ignores her protests, sliding a broad hand down one leg and lifting it by the ankle, pressing a kiss there to the start of the old ragged scar, dragging his lips up the edge of it. “You’re so much more interesting than other girls, I’ve always wondered...mm...how high do they go?” He raises an eyebrow, working his way up her calf to her knee. “Do they meet in the middle?”

 

It isn't the scars that are sensitive, but rather the skin around them, and Ja'far's breath hitches hard and fast, her toes curling. "I just… told you." It's a weak protest all the same, especially when her legs rather feel like they'd buckle out from under her, were she standing. She wavers, her knees falling apart, just slightly. "They go up all the way." 

 

Sinbad has to shift, his cock achingly hard between his own thighs, but reminds himself to take it _slow_. It’s not worth frightening her, not when it’s taken him so _long_ , and he likes tasting her besides. Slowly, he kisses his way up the inside of one thigh, grinning as his head disappears under the hem of her robes. “You,” he murmurs, still a few inches away and already feeling the heat of her, “smell delicious.”

 

Just when she thought her face couldn't get any hotter--"I'm _sure_ I don't," Ja'far manages to rasp out, squeezing her eyes shut as she trembles, her legs shaking as she slowly, worriedly spreads them wider. "You don't… you don't have to do that, you know--"

 

Sinbad wants to say something about how he knows he doesn’t _have_ to, he wants to, but actions are a better defense than words, and he nibbles his way up one thigh, nose brushing against a patch of soft, short hairs. He swallows hard, feeling the throb in his cock as he slides his hands up Ja’far’s thighs, running the tip of his tongue up the wetness of her slit. She tastes better than she smells, a ripe sweet woman, tangy and metallic and bright on his tongue, and already he wants _more_ , waiting only to see her reaction.

 

It's _good_ that her robes are in the way, so she doesn't have to _see it_.

 

Feeling it is something else altogether, down to how it makes her _twitch_ , makes Ja'far squirm and lift a hand to bite her knuckles at the incriminating squeak that pulls from her throat. " _Sin_ \--" She hates it, in a way--the way it makes her whimper and squirm just with a _touch_ of that hot tongue, and Ja'far exhales a long, shuddering exhale, sagging down into the bed as her legs give one last, valiant attempt to stay closed before splaying open wide, her eyes squeezing shut even if she already can't see. 

 

That’s all he needs.

 

Sinbad drags his tongue up again, probing further into the slick folds this time, letting the taste of her burst on his tongue as she wriggles, squirming under his touch in a way he’s only ever dreamed about, and he groans, fastening his lips over her clit and giving a long, thorough suck before probing lower, sliding up and inside her.

 

The _noises_ she's making are the worst, Ja'far desperately thinks. Mindless, breathy little squeaks and whines, all of them, no matter how she tries to cover her mouth and shut herself up with every lick and suck of Sinbad's mouth. She _aches_ \--the muscles in her legs twitching and bunching, that heat coiled in her belly focused far, far lower now, and that long, drawn-out suck enough to bring her arching off of the bed, gasping hard with her chest heaving. It's hardly Sinbad's name that she's moaning--rather, it's nonsense, broken noises, choked in her throat even as she _writhes_.

 

She's _never_ been so wet. It's embarrassing, enough to heat her skin another shade darker, and Ja'far twists and squirms, turning her head to the side in an attempt to hide it in the sheets. That quivering, shaky heat won't go _away_ , and it's another slide and press of that _tongue_ that does her in, bringing her to bite into the sheets as she comes, whimpering and lurching up and mindlessly reaching one desperate hand down, trying blindly to fist it into Sinbad's hair as she shudders and clenches. 

 

If Sinbad had some method of keeping track of the time, he’d probably have set a new record. Then again, he reminds himself ruefully, licking her _clean_ as she shivers and twitches and squirms, it’s really taken several years, so that’s another kind of record entirely.

 

He pulls back slowly, pressing another kiss to a soft warm thigh, and wipes his face with a hand as he straightens up, grinning as he crawls atop her. “Not so horrible, was it?”

 

Ja'far simply groans as she flops back, legs still splayed wide as she lets her head roll. _Everything_ twitches and shivers and she's fairly certain that her feet are going to ache later, what with how tightly her toes curled. "I'm probably going to die." 

 

Sinbad lets out a laugh, bending down to nose her robe off one shoulder, pressing a kiss to the pale skin there. “At least you’ll die happy.” 

 

He raises a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers softly over one of her freckled cheeks. “Do you want to stop? This is enough for me, I don’t want to push you.”

 

"That's an outright lie," is her low, rumbling mutter to follow. "I can _feel you_ , you know." Just saying it makes her hot all over again, and Ja'far shuts her eyes, drawing in a steadying breath. "You don't… have to stop." 

 

Sinbad's eyes are dark, intent as he looks at her, the flush on her cheeks that he caused, the heave of her chest that his touches, his kisses caused. Even on most days, the sight of Ja'far is enough to make him hard in his robes, but like this, he's aching so badly he can hardly see straight. Still... 

 

He brushes a kiss over her lips, raising up on his elbows to look down at her. "I don't want to frighten you. You always get so skittish whenever I put my hands on you."

 

"That's because you're so _grabby_. It isn't because I'm frightened, it's… you're annoying, when you're drunk especially," Ja'far mutters, squirming a little as her gaze flickers to the side again. "I already told you once, I'm sensitive enough without even being ticklish."

 

"But sometimes," Sinbad murmurs, reaching down to run a finger down the edge of Ja'far's robes, "you like being touched anyway." Slowly, carefully, he runs his finger down, urging the robe off one shoulder, then the other, easing it off until he can see her. It's different, he'd said. It's different to have her beneath him because she wants to be, and god, he's wanted to taste some of this skin for years.

 

He bends his head, pressing another kiss to her shoulder before trailing it down, brushing over the curve of one perfect breast and the pert pink nipple. "The most magnificent I've ever seen," he says again, and it's far truer now than ever before.

 

"Only--" _Only when you aren't drunk or grabbing at me and are like this instead_. Ja'far shivers, biting her lip as his mouth slides over her, still-unsteady hands lifting to hesitantly curl their way through Sinbad's hair. "They're really… far less than that--"

 

Sinbad refrains from reminding her that he's probably far more an expert than she is when it comes to evaluating breasts, and sucks softly on a nipple instead, feeling her shiver and arch and taking it as every kind of compliment. Ah, he burns, and after a while, it simply isn't enough, no matter how he's wanted to have his mouth here for what seems like an eternity. 

 

Slowly, tongue flicking across her nipple, he puts a hand on one of hers, guiding it down between his legs to press against his cock, throbbing and twitching at even that little touch.

 

No matter how many times Sinbad has dragged her into his lap and pressed up behind her, he's _never_ been this hard.

 

Ja'far swallows, an apprehensive shiver going up her spine, though there's little in the way of protests that she can form when his mouth is so _hot_ , and it's harder still by the moment to catch her breath. "You're really… I've never felt you like this before," she mumbles, and hesitantly, she curls her fingers, palm dragging along the hard length of his cock.

 

Sinbad's breath is a heady, ragged thing, and he presses his hips forward against her hand, eyes heavy lidded as even that much pressure is enough to make him see stars, as worked up as he is. "Ah--careful, I'm so--I've wanted you for so long," he explains, a little sheepishly. "I might not last long if you...your hand feels so good." And you are so very lovely, and the taste of your sweetness is still on my tongue.

 

"… So put it in already." It makes her blush even hotter, just saying those words, and no matter how she wants to keep touching, the heat and hardness of him all sorts of alluring beneath her hand, Ja'far trails her fingers away. "I… didn't I just tell you? It's fine."

 

Sinbad twitches under her hand at that, and his laugh has a slight edge of nervousness. He shakes his head all the same, shucking his robes and shaking out his hair, letting it spill loose across his shoulders and back, kneeling nude on top of her. "You don't want to get a good look first? Explore it with your hands and eyes, see what's going inside you?" Maybe that will give him a chance to calm down, as well as helping her be less afraid.

 

"You just said if I kept touching you, you might not last," Ja'far protests, trying not to sound so indignant about the very _idea_ of ruining this and knowing she's failing. That same hand hesitantly slides up all the same, her thumb brushing over the very tip of Sinbad's cock. "Believe it or not, I… want this to last."

 

Sinbad closes his hand around hers, stroking a bit just to take the edge off, but it doesn't work. Every slide of her hand, every stroke of her fingers just makes him dizzy, and he squeezes a breast, rubbing his thumb in little circles over her nipple and sighing. "Best finish me off, then. I last a lot longer the second time around. Ahh....feel that?" His eyes track down, to the wet drop smearing on Ja'far's thumb. "Feel how close I am?"

 

She nods, biting her lip until it nearly bleeds. Ja'far thinks she probably shouldn't _like_ having his hands on her like that, and normally, it certainly would annoy her. Now, one, big hand on her chest is enough to make her shiver, and her fingers squeeze in turn around Sinbad's cock. "… Up here, then." Ah, just suggesting it makes her feel like a harlot. "You always said… you wanted to put it between my breasts, didn't you?"

 

A strangled breath, and Sinbad moves, licking dry lips as he straddles her chest, both his hands stroking and squeezing now. It's not quite slick enough, but he's leaking enough to take care of that, pressing her breasts together around him and feeling the soft, sweet squeeze of it. "You're...god." His cock is thick and long, but her breasts are large and soft, and only the head of it peeks out to bump against her chin when Sinbad first thrusts up, flexing his thighs. "Can you lick it?" he breathes, eyes alight. "So close...so hard for you..."

 

That shouldn't make her _squirm_. It shouldn't make her _want to_ , either, and Ja'far's own lips are dry and trembling as they part, craning her head down to let her tongue flick out, dragging gingerly over the head of Sinbad's cock when it slides up. The taste isn't as bothersome as she'd imagined--and it's _Sinbad_ besides, harder than she's _ever_ felt him, hot and dripping to the point that ever slide leaves her stickier and slicker still. 

 

There's a thought that he shouldn't, but it's nowhere near as strong as the first flick of Ja'far's tongue over his cock, and Sinbad groans, hips rutting forward as he comes hard, shooting over Ja'far's chin and cheeks and neck, every frantic slide dragging it down into the cleft of her bosom as he comes to a slow, jerking halt. "Sorry," he mutters, fumbling shakily for a cloth somewhere to wipe her face. "God, you're just--too much for me, you know."

 

"… So that's your excuse," Ja'far manages, grimacing as she lifts a hand to wipe it over her eyes, skin flaming as she tries very, very hard not to think about squirming when it's oddly arousing, feeling like she's been _marked_. "How long have you wanted to do that, exactly?"

 

"Since I saw your breasts for the first time," Sinbad admits without shame. It's harder to feel shame about it now that they're here, now that she's smiling in his bed, now that he's not just the lecher chasing the girl who wants nothing below his waist. He finds a cloth, and wipes it gently over her face, cleaning up all the mess and leaving nothing behind but pinker skin beneath. "I know it's lewd, but they really are entrancing. Everything about the way you move captivates me."

 

He stretches out, laying between her legs, kissing up the side of her neck. "I can't wait," he breathes in her ear, "to see how we move together when I'm inside you."

 

"…They're just _breasts_ ," is the huffy complaint to follow, though it holds little of the irritation that her words normally do. Ja'far's head flops back with a sigh as her arms slowly slide around him, fingertips hesitantly brushing their way down his spine. When he isn't so hard, so _desperate_ against her, it's a little more nerve-wracking to think about. "I think… you are paying one too many compliments still."  

 

"And I say there is no such thing as too many compliments for you." Sinbad leans in for a kiss, hands moving slowly up and down her sides, luxuriating in the softness of her, the delicate pale flesh that seems so out of place on someone he knows to be so deadly. "Do you like it like this? Or on my lap, or on your belly? Make yourself comfortable," he murmurs, nibbling on her lip. "You're not the only one who wants this to last."

 

Ja'far's eyes lid, her lips parting as her skin twitches, trembles beneath the slide and splay of his fingers against her. "This is fine," she quietly manages, breath catching as she wriggles a bit, thighs spreading a bit more, no matter how her skin heats. "Unless there's… something you'd like more? I don't… I told you, I've never…"

 

"It's fine," Sinbad breathes, kissing her neck again, unable to help himself and biting it next, feeling the supple yield of it beneath his teeth. "There's nothing that looks better than you here, I just want..."

 

He bites her neck again, hardening against one soft thigh, hips rubbing up in slow circles, his breath already coming faster no matter how recently he'd spent himself. "Are you ready?"

 

 _Not really_ is the nervous thought that flickers through her mind, but Ja'far nods all the same, her nails digging into Sinbad's back just slightly, lest he even think of pulling away. His _teeth_ are good, too, and she swallows hard, thinking of the marks she'll likely have in the morning. "Just… go ahead and do it, don't tease me."

 

 

 _You've teased me for years_ is on Sinbad's tongue, but the feeling of Ja'far beneath him is worth far, _far_ more than getting a little of his own back. He sucks in a slow breath, steadying himself with another kiss to her lips--he'll never get enough, there's no such _thing_ as enough of her--and guiding himself gently, slowly up between her legs.

 

She's tight, enough that he sees stars for a moment, though it only makes his cock harder. Even just getting the head inside is work, and Sinbad bites his lip at the stretch of it, bowing his forehead against hers. "You...all right?"

 

"F-fine--" is the breathy, strained little gasp that escapes her, and Ja'far's brow knits as she sucks in a sharp, too-fast breath, swallowing down the whine that threatens to escape. It's less the burning, aching pain of it, more the _stretch_ , how her legs tremble entirely out of her control and want to splay wider all the same, in hopes of somehow making it _easier_. Her chest heaves, and her nails bite into Sinbad's shoulders, yanking him down and close as she _tries_ to relax. "Go _on_ already--"

 

Sinbad tries to be gentle, really. There's just something about Ja'far that makes him a little desperate, a little insane, and he moves as fluidly as he can, if not as slowly, easy slides in and out, and at least she's dripping wet over his thighs, making the slide a lot easier. His eyes flutter, and he places mindless kisses on every part of her he can reach, hands grabbing her knees and urging them up, bending her almost in half in hopes that the slight change in position will make it easier for her, trying to think when all of his brain is fizzling out like lightning in water. "You're--ah, god, do you feel me in there?" A stupid question to ask with how deep he's buried, but his mind isn't _working_.

 

Ja'far strangles down a mindless, heady groan, teeth sinking into her own lip at just how _deeply_ she _can_ feel him. "Hard not to," she gasps, eyes briefly squeezing shut after they slide down, just for a moment, to _see_. It makes her clench that much tighter, makes her shudder and _twitch_ , and one hand slides up to the back of his neck, fisting tightly into Sinbad's hair. "Y-you're really… god, you're _big_ \--" Never, _ever_ has she felt so _full_ , to the point that she's aching and shivering with every slide, stretched wide until it feels like she simply can't close her legs at _all_. 

 

"And you're _tight_ ," Sinbad gasps. She squeezes him like a vice with every thrust, and he can't help but go faster, taking a little of that edge off, the slick slide inside her good enough that just for a moment, he can't imagine anywhere in the world he'd rather be.

 

And it's Ja'far below him, his best friend, looking overwhelmed and excited and nervous all at once, expressions of discomfort and pleasure flitting across her face because of how deep inside her Sinbad is, something he'd never thought he'd see there, and it makes him want to serve her well. His hand steals down, a few long fingers stroking over her clit with every thrust, one thumb rubbing over a nipple, his lips and teeth fastened to her neck.

 

That, _all_ of that, makes Ja'far lurch up with a desperate, heated whine, shuddering hard at how that shift and wriggle of her hips just seems to make Sinbad press even _deeper_ inside of her. It's maddening, what his fingers alone can do--never _mind_ the thick, hard stretch of him, the way she can't help but cling to his waist with her thighs, clawing into his shoulders as every breath makes her chest heave and ah, god, that must look obscene _._  

 

More obscene is how even _more_ sensitive she feels, how she aches to the point of almost _hurting_. Ja'far whimpers, hips twitching up into the slide and stroke of his fingers, one hand scrabbling for his wrist to keep his other hand firmly atop one breast, and she swallows _hard_ to keep back her voice when her body decides to eagerly, _embarrassingly_ betray her, coming with a sharp, desperate shudder of muscles that leaves her trying not to writhe and failing with every shiver and spasm.

 

Next time, Sinbad thinks almost deliriously, he'll ask her to ride him, so he can watch those perfect breasts bounce with every sharp thrust, so he can watch her head to toe as she loses  herself around his cock. Or maybe up against a wall, holding her hands over her head--maybe he'll ask her to tie him up with her wires--maybe he'll get on his knees and yank her into his lap--no matter what, it will be good, better than with anyone else, and even just like this, as tight as she is, there's no hope for him to last. 

 

No matter what he'd promised, Sinbad can't help himself, hips snapping down hard as he slams in deep, face buried in her neck as he spills. The thought that his seed is inside her, filling her, is enough to make him shake, and he swears he comes harder just at the thought of it, buried so far he can feel resistance inside. "You," he mumbles, brushing sweat-damp hair out of her face, "are perfect. Perfect. Just..." He sags down to the bed, exhaling in a slow shuddering breath.

 

 _Too deep_ is the protest she wants to utter, but the words choke in her throat, mouth falling open with a wordless, shuddering exhale instead. Ja'far sinks into the bed, feeling decidedly like _goo_ , and a rather melted pile of it at that, no matter the _twinge_ of having Sinbad buried so deeply inside of her, everything hot and sticky and slick. "… If your seed plants," Ja'far eventually, breathlessly manages, "I may very well kill you." 

 

Sinbad grimaces at that, slowly pulling out with a wince, wiping himself down with one swipe of the already soiled cloth. "I didn't think that through," he admits. "Don't worry, there are magics, I'm sure Yamuraiha can protect you if you hate the idea so much."

 

"… They don't even know I'm a _woman_ , Sin," Ja'far points out with a groan, grimacing as she twists onto her side, attempting to stretch out. "This body has been through enough poisonings that I doubt it will happen, anyway--and what do you mean, 'if you hate the idea so much'? You can't honestly think something like that is a good idea." 

 

Sinbad shrugs. "It's a thing that happens sometimes. I'd be nothing less than thrilled to see my seed grow in you," he says a little dreamily, with the voice of a man who's imagined the same scene a hundred times. His hand rubs gently over her belly as he continues, "I'd love to watch you get ripe, swollen, like a sweet ready peach wanting to be bitten. You'd only have to hide the last month or two, and...ah, never mind. As you said, it's unlikely."

 

"I can't figure out if you're a pervert or entirely lovesick and thus more a fool than usual." Ja'far snorts, flopping her head back down. "Or both." 

 

"Entirely lovesick." Sinbad kisses her firmly on the lips, curling up behind her body with his arms around her waist. "And always a pervert. But mostly drunk off of the taste of you."

 

"And no acknowledgement towards the fool part," she mutters even as she settles back with a sigh, eyes lidding at the solidness and _warmth_ of Sinbad's body curled against her. "… so it wasn't awful for you?"  

 

Sinbad huffs out a laugh, nuzzling up into her neck as his eyes close, a little smile on his face. "Probably the best I've ever had. I'll make it better for you, if you ever let me bed you again. I lost myself, I know."

 

Ja'far opens her mouth to inform him that he is almost certainly lying--but then again, coming from Sinbad, and at this point… he probably thinks he _isn't_. "… You don't have to worry about that. It was good," she murmurs, her own eyes drifting shut. "This is just… one of the few things I am not so confident with." 

 

"Well, allow me to take one of those very few things off your mind. You're as good at bedding a man as killing a man. Better," he adds with a grin, "because you've only been able to do one of those to me."

 

"I'm going to shove my elbow through your gut and maybe accomplish both in one night." 

 

"I said it before," Sinbad murmurs, nestling comfortably in the darkness. "I'll die a happy man."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ja'far doesn't like drinking very often. It seems whenever she does, however, she ends up drinking to _excess_ , every single time. 

 

That wouldn't be such a bad thing if it were in the privacy of her own rooms, but that's never the case. It's at a festival this time, where the wine is sweet and rich, and the weather warm enough that she loosens the collar and buttons of her shirt in short order. The bindings on her chest are going to be next at this rate--no longer an issue except for her own modesty and comfort in combat readiness, considering Sharrkan walked in on her changing some months ago, and from then on out, it had become common knowledge… 

 

Most of all, Ja'far doesn't like drinking because the alcohol goes to her head, far too quickly and far too easily. Now is definitely one of those times, because Sinbad's lap looks very inviting, and she waits until it's empty for a sparse second before plopping herself down into it, wine goblet still in hand. 

 

Sinbad’s eyes leave the girl they were currently wandering over, suddenly _far_ more occupied with the way his lap is full of the most entrancing lady in his entire country, who is for once not snapping at him to do work. He wraps an arm around her chest, pulling her back against him as he leans forward, murmuring in her ear, “You having a good night?” _He_ certainly is, with Ja’far in his lap, all soft curves and warm weight.

 

"Good wine," is Ja'far's succinct declaration as she wriggles backward, letting her head loll back against Sinbad's shoulder quite comfortably. She can feel the heat of her skin next to his, a far greater warmth with how flushed she is, and it's sort of nice, in a way. "Really good wine. Why don't I drink it more often?" 

 

 _Because whenever you do, you regret it in the morning._ “I don’t know, you don’t listen to most of my good ideas.” He lets his fingers splay out over her abdomen, his own face flushed with enough wine that he doesn’t bother trying to control himself, at least right now, from pulling her back enough to cuddle even in public. “You feel good. Do you taste like wine, too?”

 

"I don't knooow." Ja'far wriggles in his hold before twisting around, settling down to straddle his lap. "You can always find out," she sighs, taking a long swallow from her goblet before setting it aside and leaning down, sealing her lips over Sinbad's in a decidedly _sloppy_ kiss, red wine escaping down her chin as she sucks his lower lip into her mouth.

 

Sinbad resolves immediately that getting Ja’far drunk needs to happen more often, even if he has to make up sacred holidays about it. He drinks from her lips, hands finding sweet supple flesh to grab and pull close, wrapping an arm around her to hold her up when Sinbad leans forward, kissing her so intently that if not for his arm, she’d have fallen backwards off his knees.

 

Little eager, muffled noises leave her throat as she's kissed, wriggling forward as she reaches a hand up to the bindings around her chest, a swift _yank_ sending the bandages sliding down and piling about her waist instead. A hard heave of her breath makes her breasts press forward against Sinbad's chest, and Ja'far _squirms_ as she grabs for his hair. "So? What do you think?" Ja'far breathes out hot and fast, biting at his lips as her eyes flutter. "Do I taste as good as wine? Or better?" 

 

If Ja’far doesn’t care that they’re in public, Sinbad can’t even consider it an issue. He kisses her again, unable to stop from tasting those sweet lips, and murmurs, “So, so much better--but to be thorough, I should really check how you taste _everywhere_.”

 

He’s achingly hard in his robes, but damn it, it’s a festival, and there are plenty of couples furtively copulating (some not so furtively) all around. He’s usually _good_ at times like this, but there’s enough wine to make him careless, and it’s _Ja’far_ besides.

 

"Pervert," is her breathless accusation as she yanks on Sinbad's hair, her hips twitching forward, wanting to feel the press of Sinbad's cock. "You're _already_ so hard--I bet you'd do anything so long as I touched you." 

 

Sinbad lets out a grunt, rutting up against the press of Ja’far against him, feeling that secret, hidden warmth between her legs against him and almost forgetting that there are even clothes in the way. “That’s not news,” he manages, barely, all his thoughts subsumed under his lust, his _hunger_ for her. “Yeah, I’d do anything for your touch, name me a task, just touch me, let me touch you.”

 

An evil sort of glee passes over her flushed face, and Ja'far reaches a hand down, grabbing sloppily for his cock to squeeze through that annoying barrier of fabric. It's so much _easier_ when she's not thinking about it, when her thoughts and inhibitions are a fuzzy, dully ringing blur. "How about getting on your knees, just like the perverted slut you are," she purrs, mouthing a wet kiss, then a bite over his throat. "You can kiss my feet like you're always _begging_ to." 

 

_Oh god._

 

Sinbad almost spills over the first touch of her hand, never mind that he’s not lost himself that way with a woman for ages, and the throaty purr out of her mouth makes his skin feel too tight all over, makes his head light and dizzy, and he nods, dry-mouthed as he slides down to his knees. “Is this where you want me, milady?” he breathes, achingly hard now, just wanting her to _touch him_ , he doesn’t even care where at this point.

 

Ja'far flops back into his chair, dwarfed by the size of it and entirely uncaring as she extends one foot after kicking off her shoe, dragging her toes up the broad line of his shoulder. "Mmhmm, just like that," she sighs. "Loooook at you, you're panting like a dog. Might as well be one, huh? What with the way you trail after me all the time. Always misbehaving, always such a _pervert_ ," she murmurs, shoving her foot against the side of his face. "Make it up to me." 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sinbad notices the bulk of Hinahoho attempting to steer the remaining partygoers away, especially the children. Ah, well, that’s one thing he doesn’t have to pretend to worry about, then. Unsure if this is what she really wants and aroused by the idea all the same, he catches one of those delicate feet in his hands (a little too clumsy), and drags his tongue up the side of it, pressing kisses along the sole, sucking a toe into his mouth. He’s never enjoyed this, but Ja’far is so _clean_ , so _petite_ , and it just makes him want to do awful, dirty things to the woman.

 

In the back of her mind, Ja'far is sure a little voice is saying _you'd never normally like this, this is really ridiculous and obscene_.

 

That little voice doesn't know how good Sinbad looks kissing her feet, though.

 

Ja'far shivers, toes curling, her fingers flexing on the arms of the chair, and her legs spread a little on their own accord. It's too difficult not to life a hand and slide it to one of her breasts, to lazily pinch at a nipple through fabric, her pulse jumping as her eyes flutter. "Just like that," she pants out. "You're really… _god_ , you're a worse whore than anyone, aren't you?" She doesn't bother kicking the other shoe off when she wriggles forward, pressing it down between Sinbad's legs. "Still so, _so_ hard." 

 

Sinbad can’t _quite_ remember what it is to breathe.

 

The second Ja’far touches her own nipple, he groans, rutting forward against the press of her foot, eyes lidding as he thrusts against it a few more times. “I’ll be a good whore for you,” he promises eagerly, leaning forward to take another toe into his mouth, flicking his tongue around it as if he were sucking something else entirely.

 

The shoe comes off--it's _better_ that way, better to grind her heel against his cock, to slide up the hard, aching length of it, to shiver at the heat of it when he throbs with each thrust against her foot. "You said you wanted to taste me everywhere, didn't you?" Ja'far isn't thinking when she leans forward to grab at his hair, abandoning playing with herself in favor of grabbing at her robes to hike them up to her thighs. 

 

Sinbad isn’t entirely sure whether he’ll come first or pass out on the ground, and that’s how he knows this is _good_. He eagerly obeys, taking his cue from the way she bares soft, supple thighs to his sight, dragging his mouth up the side of one before burying it between her thighs. 

 

Ja’far might have no bodily smell, but he can smell her _here_ , can taste her, drags his tongue up with a groan, feeling soft short hairs rasping at his face. The foot on his cock is secondary at this point, enough to make him come on its own, but nowhere _near_ as interesting as the play of textures on his tongue, as the taste, as the way he fastens his lips around that hard little bud and sucks, tongue flicking out.

 

A whine pulls from her throat uninhibited, and Ja'far slides closer to the edge of her seat, hand wrapping up tightly into Sinbad's hair, pulling, yanking as her thighs spread, trembling and shivering as she eventually just throws one leg over his shoulder. "G-good," she pants out, eyes rolling back as her hips twist, rutting down against the slide of his tongue, the _suck_ of his mouth against her. She's _glad_ for the alcohol at this point--normally, she's too sensitive for this, it's too _much_ , but right now it's perfect, Sinbad's mouth hot and his tongue so damnably slick--"Ahh… _god_ \--" Her foot twists down, toes curling against his cock. "Fuck me with your tongue, you _whore_ \--"

 

“Yesss,” Sinbad groans against the slickness of her, and slides his tongue down to delve inside, into the slick heat he’s only been allowed to taste once before, though it’s in his dreams often. She’s so tight it’s nearly a stretch for his tongue to slide inside her, and the thought of shoving his cock into that tight heat is too much, and he moans helplessly against her as his hips jerk forward, spilling hot over the curl of her toes, eyes shut in bliss as he thrusts his tongue inside.

 

Somehow, she muffles a shriek to a whimper, high and broken as her hips jerk and rut forward, the hand in his hair twisting tighter still to grind his face down. The hot spill of him over her foot, that's _enough_ , never mind how good his tongue feels wriggling inside of her, and Ja'far comes, gasping, twitching and shivering as her thighs bunch tight, as every spasm makes her feel all the more _boneless._

 

Sinbad can’t really breathe, suffocated by soft, pillowy thighs, but wow, what a way to go. His hips roll in urgenty, needy little circles against her foot until he’s completely spent, licking up every drop of her he’s allowed to taste, not caring when her thighs go slack and her hands relax in his hair. He’s gentle, but _thorough_ , dragging his tongue up and down, trying to make her realize how _good_ it can be, even if she’s drunk.

 

Ja'far groans, lingering little twitches sweeping up her spine with every swipe of his tongue, and she paws at Sinbad's hair again, trying to pull and haul him up. "Get hard again, you worthless dog," she pants out, eyes not _quite_ focused. "Want you in me, p-put yourself to good use--"

 

“N-not a problem,” Sinbad assures her, pulling back with a last kiss to her clit before palming himself, a stroke or two all it takes to bring him back when the taste of her is on his lips. “Been so long,” he murmurs, lifting her from the chair to sit himself down, settling her astride him, on top of him where she belongs. “You’re so _tight_ down there, good thing you’re so wet or I’m not sure I could get it in.”

 

 _That_ makes her shudder, and Ja'far wriggles forward, letting his cock slide against the curve of her ass at first and biting her lip at the feeling of it, hot and hard against her skin. "You _like_ making me a mess, don't you?" she huffs out, not quite coordinated enough to keep from flopping against his chest, her arms draping over his shoulders as she wriggles. "You really are the _worst_ pervert." 

 

“I’m the worst,” he agrees readily, rutting against the curve of her ass, imagining for a second what it would feel like to slide in _there_ and having to pause to catch his breath. “A whore and a dog and a pervert, that’s what you turn me into.” He almost does it himself, but she’s getting off on bossing him around, so why not make them both want it a little more. “Please,” he murmurs, bending down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and tugging on it with his teeth. “Please, fuck me.”

 

It takes _effort_ to pull herself up, especially when her knees wobble at the request, when her back arches with every pull of his teeth against such sensitive skin. Just the _press_ of the head of Sinbad's cock against her, _that_ makes her whine, makes her thighs spread further over his lap as she reaches a hand down to grab his cock, the other clawing, grabbing at his shoulder as Ja'far sinks down, that first stretch making her breath catch and hiccup. Her chest heaves when finally the head pops inside and she _mewls_ like some broken thing before wriggling down the rest of the way until she's entirely, _completely_ stuffed full of him. 

 

"You're so… _so_ hard inside me," Ja'far groans, muscles twitching as she rocks, biting her lip when she grinds _down_ just right and every nerve in her body seems content to throb. Sinbad's right--there's no way he'd fit if she wasn't so _wet_ , but god, she definitely is, wet enough to drip slickly over his thighs, turned on all the more by being able to fuck herself on his big cock, her back arching when she slides down just _right_. 

 

Sinbad’s hands come up to squeeze Ja’far’s ass, filling his hands with that soft, supple flesh, groaning at every hot, tight slide of her body down. Stamina or not, the way Ja’far’s body clenches around him like a vice is almost _too_ good, and his eyes roll back into his head as he just _enjoys_. “Perfect,” he rasps, thrusting up into her in slow, easy rolls. “You feel perfect, you _look_ perfect on my cock.”

 

His hands come around to cup her breasts, the weight of them smooth and heavy in his palms as he squeezes, stroking.

 

Ja'far _whines_ , wriggling down into each thrust of his hips, trying to plant her knees to better lift herself and failing when her legs just wobble and go entirely _weak_. It's too much--the deep, hard press of Sinbad's cock inside of her at this angle is enough to make her gasp and swallow hard with every little twitch of their joined bodies. "W-want you to bite," she pants out, grabbing, clawing for his hair, squirming to press her chest better into his hands. "Leave marks on them--you've--that's what you want to do, isn't it? Y-you're such a lecher that you think about it all the time--"

 

Ah god, Ja’far is _trying_ to be the death of him.

 

He takes her at her words, drunken as they may be, fastening his mouth to a breast and sucking, nibbling, biting so that anyone who sees will _know_ , littering her chest, her shoulders, her neck with bites and red marks that will be impossible to explain away, and he _knows_ it. “I do think about it all the time,” he murmurs against her skin, thrusting up _hard_ just to hear her breath hitch into another whine. “Marking you up, so everyone can see how well we flew together--letting them know I know how good you taste--”

 

 _Knew it, I knew it, you're the_ worst _and I love it--_

 

Were she less drunk, less _aroused_ by everything about him, by his grabbing hands and the sharp bite of his teeth and the long, _deep_ slide of his cock inside of her, Ja'far might be _embarrassed_ at how obscene she sounds, whimpering and mewling and gasping as she ruts down, helplessly riding Sinbad's cock with every little grind of her hips making her eyes roll back and her cheeks flush hotter still. She might be embarrassed at how her body is so _eager_ to be thrown over the edge again, at how her second orgasm takes her body surprise and makes her shriek, groaning as every muscle squeezes tight, shivers and twitches and clamps tight around him--but instead Ja'far is lost and _likes it that way_. 

 

Sinbad rides Ja’far hard through her orgasm, keeping her peaking for as long as he can, striking over good things inside her as he bites _hard_ , making sure wave after wave ripples through her before finally losing himself, spilling deep inside her, so deep he feels _resistance_ against the head of his cock as he comes. He imagines, for a wild, fleeting second, what she would look like, swollen with his child instead of just his cock, and that’s enough to make him shudder and collapse back onto the chair, arms wrapped loosely around her. “You,” he pants, when he can somewhat breathe again, “are going to be the death of me. Please.”

 

"Ah… ha… that…" Words. What are words again? Ja'far groans weakly, letting her head loll forward and against his shoulder, her face burying into Sinbad's neck as she shivers, squirming as she feels the slickness of his seed, her _own_ wetness and ah, god, they really are a mess now. She can't quite bring herself to move, though. "Really kill you… if I get pregnant."

 

Sinbad grunts out something unintelligible against her shoulder. “I thought you said that with all the poisons and stuff that wouldn’t happen.” He presses a kiss over one bite, adding, “And your reason last time was that no one knew you were a woman. You can’t use that now.”

 

"… Now my reason is I don't wanna get up." Drunk logic is the best logic.

 

Sinbad laughs, arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer. “You don’t need to. It’s a fertility festival, we’re hardly the only couple jumping over coals tonight.” He brushes the hair out of her face, damp with sweat. “You can sleep on me all night, if you want.”

 

"Mmn. Comfortable, at least," Ja'far allows, flopping forward and a little intrigued at the way her breasts squish against his chest when she does that. 

 

Sinbad laughs, nuzzling into her hair. “Good.” He pauses, then the wine burns in him as he relaxes back. “Marry me.”

 

"No," she sighs, wriggling her fingers as they drape over his shoulders. 

 

“Okay.” Sinbad gives her a last sloppy kiss on the cheek, and falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

At first, Ja'far thinks little of it.

 

In fact, she's certain she's at least 75% barren--or at least, she _should be_ , after all of the poisons she's ingested over the years, and continues to as a matter of keeping herself immune or tolerant of most things. Such a thing makes her cycles a far from regular occurrence, so when she doesn't bleed for a span of a month, she doesn't bat an eye.

 

A second month is shrugged away as well. Passing the third, and it isn't until she starts feeling like there's something batting around her belly that realization sinks in, and the general _soreness_ about--well--everything, plus or minus a few odd pounds gained starts to make _sense_. 

 

Ahh, Ja'far is going to _kill him_. 

 

"We're having a conversation," she tersely informs him, no matter how she'd _much_ rather be leering over his desk and making sure he's finishing the pile of work set before him. 

 

Sinbad kicks back in his chair, settling himself comfortably. Despite the fact that Ja’far looks tense as she can be, she’s still _intent_ , focused on him more than on anything else, and he can usually turn that to his advantage. “Certainly. I’m always more than pleased to talk to you. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it on my lap? You look _lovely_ today, and I even finished my work!”

 

Those two statements are not entirely separate. Sinbad tends to be a lot more productive when promises of Ja’far’s favors exist.

 

"I… no," Ja'far exasperatedly replies, her arms folding tightly over her chest. Bad idea. That _soreness_ lately is only exacerbated by the fact she keeps her breasts tightly bound, and so her arms slide down again. It's a reminder that being blunt is the best solution as always, especially with Sin. "I'm…" _Still_ , no one said this would be so… embarrassing? Awkward? "… with child. Yours," is her hasty addition. As if it could _be_ anyone else's. 

 

Sinbad sits up so fast something goes flying off the desk, and he doesn’t spare a shadow of a thought for what it could be. His eyes go wide, mouth hanging slightly agape, and he only takes a second to marvel at the fact that he’s _never_ felt such excitement, such eager joy at hearing those words before. He edges closer, reaching out a tentative hand to her belly, a budding smile of elation on his face. “Truly? That’s _wonderful_!”

 

Ja'far's face flushes hot. She hadn't expected him to look so _happy_ about it. That makes this even more _awkward_. "Wonderful? How can that possibly be wonderful?" She smacks at his hand, taking a step back. "I--I'm not even supposed to be able to _have_ children!"

 

“I know!” Sinbad’s grin doesn’t fade when she slaps him away. If he’d paid attention every time she did that, he’d never have an advisor, let alone a babe growing inside one. “I never thought you would, either, that’s why this is so exciting! Ah, you’ll have the paperwork drawn up, won’t you?”

 

" _Paperwork?_ Paperwork for what? Sin, I can't--you can't actually expect me to _do this_ ," she hisses out. "I'm no mother, I'm barely a step past being an assassin to serve in our makeshift _parliament._ " 

 

“Paperwork for making the child my heir, of course,” Sinbad says easily, but the smile fades into a hint of alarm at her next words. He stands, going to her side and taking her hand. “Forgive me, it didn’t occur to me that you’d be unhappy.” _Most women who bear my children are happier than this, and I’ve never loved one of them the way I love you._

 

Ja'far can only stare at him. "… For making it your _heir?_ What happened to hating lines of inheritance based on blood?" she incredulously retorts, tugging her hand away. "Sin, how can _you_ want this? I'm no mother, certainly not fit to be the mother of any _heir_ , and there's a good chance there will be something _wrong with it_ at this rate. I've told you, my body isn't the most hospitable of places for a child, and I took a number of precautions to try and make sure this didn't _happen_ , besides."

 

“Nonsense. You were built for this, anyone with eyes can see that,” Sinbad says confidently. “If that’s your only worry, let it be. You don’t need to raise him if it’s too much of a burden, of course. There are nannies, wetnurses, governesses, tutors, all manner of things.” Ah, even now, he can’t _quite_ keep the grin off his face at the thought of what’s growing inside her. “And you know, no woman’s a mother before she’s a mother.”

 

"… That's _really_ not…" Another, exasperated sound, and Ja'far slowly shakes her head. "You are _not_ allowed to make a ceremony or _announcement_ about this," she finally, helplessly says. "And you're not to make me draw up any _paperwork,_ either. Announcing your heir before it's even born, are you insane?" 

 

“I agree to all your demands,” Sinbad says immediately, and steers Ja’far into his own chair, rubbing her neck and shoulders gently. “Insane is such a harsh word, I thought we’d agreed that ‘enthusiastic’ would work most of the time?”

 

"No, you're insane," Ja'far tiredly retorts as she collapses back, heaving a long sigh. "Why would you want to make this one your heir, anyway? You've at least a dozen others."

 

“But this one is _ours_.” Sinbad leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “You have to admit, that changes things. Besides, I’ve never been able to watch one of them grow up before, making sure they get the best training, the best teaching, the best--” He cuts himself off, amused. “Huh. Is this what most men feel when they sire a child?”

 

"… I'd imagine so," is her dry reply as she flops, unable to help herself when she feels so _tired_. "I didn't think… you'd be so _interested_ in it." 

 

Sinbad nuzzles into her hair, placing a kiss on the top of her head as he rubs her shoulders. “I wouldn’t have suspected it myself. Just goes to show, eh? What love will do to a man?”

 

"I think you're being a little overly dramatic when you say things like that." A quiet, annoyed sound escapes her. "I'm going to be _useless_ to you, you know. Stuck at a desk at _best_. How do women do this?"

 

“You _know_ you’re the most useful to me at a desk,” Sinbad reminds her, running his hands soothingly down her upper arms. “It’s not like the old days, we’re not running around like idiots anymore. Or at least, you’re not following someone who runs around like an idiot anymore. You’re hardly useless to me.”

 

"But if you need an assassin for any reason…" She trails off, frustrated. "I don't like… not being the person you can go to for _everything_." 

 

“Ja’far. This is a time of peace.” Sinbad’s mouth crooks in a grin. “Think of all the excellent practice you’re letting the others get. Let them assassinate, for a change, it’ll be good for them. Besides,” he points out, dipping a hand lower, ghosting over her belly, “you’re hardly _useless_ , you’ve got an extra inch for me to grab at best.”

 

Ja'far frowns immediately at that. "I don't want to get fat. I've _already_ gained weight, I don't like it."  

 

Sinbad raises an eyebrow. “I think you look stunning. Don’t I get a say? Who are you trying to impress?”

 

"… Why do you like it when _I'm_ fat but no one else?" she flatly replies.

 

Sinbad shrugs. “Why do you like it when I touch you, but no one else?”

 

A hot flush spreads over her face almost immediately. "I don't… probably because you rarely give me an option nowadays. Give or take the fact everyone else is mildly annoying at best."

 

“Don’t make it sound as if I force you,” Sinbad complains, finally withdrawing his touch. “As you’re so fond of reminding me, you’re more than capable of landing me on my belly with my hair in your hand.”

 

"Oh, _now_ you're making it sound as if you end up there unwillingly and not because you like it when I pull on that slutty ponytail of yours."

 

Sinbad starts to protest, but that’s fair enough. “I wouldn’t mind if you’d do it in the bedroom too. You’re so fickle with your cruelties.”

 

"I'm too tired for you to be perverted today," Ja'far grumbles in protest, shutting her eyes. "And everything hurts, so you'll have to deal with me being fickle. Does this part pass? It hurts even to touch my chest lately, let alone bind it. I rather hate it." 

 

“It’ll pass,” Sinbad assures her. “A week, maybe two? Have you been ill much?”

 

Ja'far shakes her head. "Not at all. Just sleepy all the time… I can do without that, for sure."

 

“Ah, then you’ve got it easy.” Sinbad leans down, wrapping his arms around her from behind again, no matter that this would be easier were she in his lap instead of his chair. “Whatever you need from me, these next months, you’ll have.”

 

"I'm hardly an invalid, you know," Ja'far sighs out, but tilts her head back all the same to look at him. "All that's going to happen is I'm going to get fat." _Well, and become less flexible and less interested in killing because I don't want something to happen to it._

 

“You know, having a child inside of you and swelling around it is hardly the same thing as getting fat,” Sinbad points out mildly. “I personally think pregnant women are gorgeous.”

 

"Ah. Is that why you make it a point to spread your seed so?"

 

“How rude, I make it a point to let my fields lie fallow for a season or two between reapings. I just think the next generation would do well to be full of, well, the best seed available.”

 

Ja'far stares up at him, unimpressed. "Your _ego_ , Sin."

 

“You’ve met my children. Do you think it’s a false claim?”

 

"Most of them are still _toddlers_ , it's a little difficult to claim they are the best generation," Ja'far wryly points out, stretching with a little sigh before hauling herself to her feet. "Honestly, you're so full of yourself sometimes."

 

“Mmm, but right now, the one full of me is _you_. And you can’t deny that my seed is strong, if it’s taken hold in so many places.” Sinbad lets his eyes roam appreciatively over her, sighing at the sight. “Even in a barren field.”

 

"… Can you _not_ look at me as if I'm something edible? It's a little disconcerting, considering I am, as you've pointed out, full of _your_ seed," she deadpans.

 

“Well, I’m hardly going to swallow you whole,” Sinbad remarks, a bit amused at the thought. “You’re precious to me, no matter how, ah, _edible_.”

 

"How reassuring. Then put me to bed and let me at least bake a bit more before you take a bite out, assuming you can stand the wait," Ja'far sighs.

 

~~

 

Ja’far gets bigger every day.

 

It had seemed like an exaggeration, at first, but every day Sinbad notices it more and more, belly and breasts swelling to a ripe, sweet whole, and Sinbad has a worse time keeping his hands off her every day. Even odder, unlike most of the pregnant women he’s seen swell, she just looks lovelier every day, skin glowing, eyes shining, hair lustrous, everything about her just _radiant_. 

 

That is, whenever he can find her.

 

She sleeps about sixteen hours of the day, but it’s _worth_ it, for the secret, almost _shy_ little smile on Ja’far’s face. Sinbad opens the door to his bedroom, the big, soft bed more accommodating for her size lately, and asks softly, “Are you awake, love?”

 

"Something like it," is the muffled sort of reply she offers, not bothering to lift her face from where it's half-pressed into a pillow. At first, the invitation to share his bed more permanently had been off-putting, and Ja'far had been entirely convinced of her inability to sleep in the same bed as Sinbad on a regular basis. Ah, but she'd been wrong. Like this, it's as if she can sleep _anywhere_ , and she can't even find the normal anxiety over it that she would have had months ago. Instead, it's just mildly inconvenient. 

 

Ja'far rolls over with some effort, flopping onto her back with a soft huff. Three more months of this to go, and she's _already_ a little amazed at how large she is. If there's more than one in there, she might kill Sinbad still. "Did you need something? The tax accounts aren't due until tomorrow afternoon," she adds, pushing herself up onto her elbows with a bit of effort. "I was going to finish them up in about an hour…" 

 

“Leave them, Aliyah can take care of the rest of them.” Sinbad leans back against the door, a smile playing around his lips as he watches her. “Don’t worry at all. If I’d known this was what it took to finally get you to take a reliable assistant, I’d have been even more excited.”

 

Ja'far flops back with another exhale, rather unable to summon the effort to be irritated about being denied a chance to work when Sinbad's bed is so comfortable and her back is aching so. "Well, then come cut my breasts off, they're too heavy for me to move." 

 

Sinbad’s face is stark white at the very idea, his stomach turning in horror. “How--I--what are you--”

 

He shakes his head slowly, walking to the bed and taking a deep breath. “Let’s just….never suggest anything like that again, shall we? The babe will hear."

 

"It was a _joke_ ," Ja'far complains, her eyes rolling as she slowly twists onto her side. "I'm not cutting them off, not until this is over and done with, at least. It has to nurse, after all."

 

This time, Sinbad glares instead of swooning dramatically. “You’re just tormenting me. You’ve never looked lovelier, you know.” He sits on the bed, resting a hand on her belly. “Is he kicking again? A fighter, this one, that’s for certain.”

 

"All the time," she bemoans, head lolling back into a pillow. "It's going to have your temperament, no doubt. Truly obnoxious. At least I've learned to sleep through it." 

 

“Can you….stop calling our child _it_?” Sinbad asks tentatively, bringing up for the first time something that’s bothered him for months. “He, she, whichever you prefer imagining, but when you say _it_ I can’t stop thinking of a little stone statue making its way out of you.”

 

Ja'far blinks at him. "But we don't know if it's going to be a girl or boy yet. It seems a little rude to _assume_." 

 

“Seems ruder to pretend our baby is an inanimate object. I’m going with _he_ , and you never objected. Ah, he’s kicking!” Sinbad drops the subject immediately, feeling the press of undeniable feet--or hands, or something--against his hand. “Look, what a strong fellow he’ll be!”

 

"Ow," Ja'far mildly supplies, lidding her eyes with a yawn. "Really, I'm going to laugh if _he_ turns out to be a _she_. Seems fitting, you're as sensitive and moody as a woman on the best of days lately, your child will be just like you." 

 

Sinbad laughs at that. “I wouldn’t mind in the slightest,” he assures the woman, nuzzling down into her hair, hand rubbing gently over the mound. “Ah, can you imagine a daughter? All...strong, and vigorous, and with the best of both of us? With the sweetness of your smile, and--my hair, of course, and no offense, but I can only hope for my eyes--yours are lovely on you, but I’d prefer that she not be an assassin.”

 

"God no, I'd curse no one with my looks, to be honest," Ja'far sniffs. "Let it--her, whatever--look like you entirely, that would be for the best. Though if she has your hair, _please_ let her keep it shorter, it's entirely ridiculous for it to be so long."

 

“She can keep it however she likes,” Sinbad says, only a little bit miffed at the criticism of his choice of hairstyle. “If she happens to think this is an elegant and imposing look, I’m sure you wouldn’t be so cruel as to cut it without asking her.” It’s not _quite_ a glare. Not this time.

 

"You have cowlicks. How are cowlicks elegant? And how is it imposing when you get hauled onto your ass by it?" Ja'far lightly inquires, reaching out a hand to grab a strand and tug. "But of course I'm not going to ask her to cut it without asking, I'm just going to _suggest_."

 

Sinbad laughs, curling around Ja’far’s belly, nuzzling into her neck. “Why suggest elegance to such a rough-and-tumble child? You’re hardly setting her up for the easiest of lives as it is.”

 

"Oh, what is that supposed to mean? _You're_ the one that wants to make her your heir," she grumbles, flopping an arm over Sinbad's hip. "I'd be content if she's capable of doing a bit of paperwork on time, unlike her father."

 

“And you’re the one who won’t marry me and make her legitimate.” Sinbad doesn’t sound terribly concerned, and isn’t, but he likes getting those withering glares from her. And it never hurts to _ask_ , either. “Though the offer’s always open.”

 

Ja'far hardly seems fazed. "You don't want to marry me, I'm not any sort of royalty. In fact, I'm the absolute lowest rung of street rat."

 

“If we’re counting royal birth as the standard for royalty, you’re no less royal than I am,” Sinbad reminds her. “But our child...she has the chance to be born into it.” He sits back, thinking. “Though maybe you’re right, she’ll work harder if she has to fight for it. Ah, when did I start calling him a she?”

 

"When I did," Ja'far cheerfully says, shifting to throw a leg over Sinbad's hip as she stretches out. "Do we get to take bets? I bet I'm right." 

 

“I learned a long time ago never to argue with a pregnant woman about the sex of her baby.” Sinbad cuddles into Ja’far delightedly nevertheless, wrapping arms around her belly. “She, hmm? Do you think she’ll be tall? Proud? Will the ground quake when she fights her way out of your belly?”

 

"… Does she have to fight her way out? That sounds annoyingly painful," Ja'far complains, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

 

“Oh? I thought that was just how everyone talked about it. How do they talk about birth where you come from?”

 

"I don't really remember, I was very young and I don't think anyone wanted someone like me to reproduce," Ja'far snorts. "But I certainly don't want her _fighting_ out. I've got wide enough hips, this should be a much easier thing than that." 

 

Sinbad thinks of many of the women he’s heard birthing, before he was old enough to run happily away from such things. “I’m sure it will be easy,” he lies, probably unconvincingly.

 

"Lying through your teeth. Don't worry about it, _you_ don't have to do anything," Ja'far sniffs. "Just leave me be, I'll be fine."

 

~~

 

Ja'far has decided that sleeping is good.

 

Sleeping is _even better_ when it comes down to the wire, so to speak. The last few weeks have made it a little difficult to even get _up_ , considering how much her belly has swollen and how her back aches, and so she's taken to sleeping quite a bit, only occasionally insisting on reviewing the paperwork that Sinbad has been overseeing. Otherwise, it's too much effort, and Sin is actually quite capable when he needs to be. 

 

With sleeping being so good in mind, it's not terribly farfetched that she barely blinks when the window opens, and in pops a very bedraggled, shivering excuse of a Magi, long, dark hair trailing behind her like a cat's tail. She seems surprised to see Ja'far in Sinbad's bed, and all the more surprised at how obviously pregnant she is. "Um… where's…"

 

"Not here," Ja'far mutters, and makes a half-hearted grab for one of her blades, stashed beneath a pillow. Judal doesn't seem in a particularly threatening mood at least, but still. "Give him a minute, he'll come running. You tripped a magic wire, pretty sure." 

 

"Oh." Judal just sits, then, a little too placidly on the windowsill.

 

The _twang_ of magoi that lets Sinbad know that one of his alarms has been tripped sends Sinbad staggering to his feet, knocking over scrolls that Aliyah has already started cleaning up by the time he hits the door. _If something’s happened to Ja’far,_ his mind chants as his strides lengthen, hand already reaching for the sword of Baal as he flies down the corridor (literally? He’s not sure, when’s the last time his feet hit the ground?). 

 

He reaches the bedroom in what feels like no time at all, throwing open the door and seizing his magoi--

 

And with another look around, lets it go. 

 

“Judal,” he breathes, with a slow sigh of relief at seeing Ja’far unharmed. “Ah.” He lets his hand slide from the hilt of his sword. “Been a long time.”

 

Judal brightens immediately, though even that expression is a little too-tired on the girl's face. "Ah! You _are_ here, stupid king!"

 

"Right, if that's all, I'm going back to sleep." A heavy exhale, and Ja'far promptly flops onto her back again, yanking the blankets up close and burying her face down into one of Sinbad's pillows.

 

The Magi's face twists slowly in confusion as she steps out of the window entirely, sparing Ja'far another glance before fastening herself to Sinbad's arm. "Is that really _Freckles?_ She's… um…"

 

"I'm fat, I know," is Ja'far's grumpily half-asleep retort.

 

Sinbad hurries forward, wrapping an arm around Judal and leading her from the room. She’s colder than he remembers in his grasp, and trembling a bit in a way he doesn’t like at _all_. “You hungry?” he asks, keeping his voice low, and closes the door behind them. “Sleepy? The bed’s taken, but there are plenty more here.”

 

The mention of _food_ is enough to make her stomach twist, and Judal clings tighter to Sinbad's arm, nodding. "Came all the way from Kou," she mumbles, butting her face against his shoulder like a cat desperate for attention. "I don't wanna go back. Keep me?" 

 

Ah. This is a lot more serious than he’d expected, but damned if it isn’t what he’s wanted for _ages_. Sinbad pauses for a moment, then leans down, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her gently against his side like a child, encouraging her to wrap her arms and legs around him. “Let’s get you fed, hmm? You know I could never turn you away.”

 

Judal eagerly clings to him, burying her face into his shoulder with another, tiny shiver. "… Is it yours? That's why you're letting Freckles have your bed, isn't it?" she quietly mumbles.

 

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Sinbad says without a hint of hesitation. “She can’t really sleep anywhere else, she’s too big for her old bed. You know I’ve got quite a few bastards running around, yeah? I’m sure the Kou boys have mentioned it.”

 

"Yeah. They say a lot of things about you. Nothing nice." Judal's eyes lid. "Didn't expect _Freckles_ , though. Or for you to care so much. What's so special about babies, anyway?" 

 

“Hmm.” Sinbad thinks it over, opening the door to one of the kitchens and ushering out the couple of maids still at work at this time of night, then setting Judal down gently at a table. He starts gathering the food himself, sort of enjoying the task, piling sweets and meats and breads onto plates and ignoring the vegetables. “It’s a part of yourself that lives on when you’re dead,” he comes up with, finally. “We petty mortals have to worry about things like that, unlike great Magi. Just one goose, or two? They’ve just been roasted.”

 

Ahh, she might die. When's the last time she's been allowed to eat like this? "Two," is the immediate, eager reply, and Judal immediately reaches out to grab the nearest loaf of bread and start in on that first. "If you'd let me choose you," she says around a mouthful before swallowing, "you wouldn't have to worry about it. But, if you still wanted babies, I'd be okay with it. If it's you, anyway. Mine would be prettier." 

 

Sinbad laughs, carving up a second goose, serving it with a generous helping of potatoes cooked in the fat. “I’ve never for a second denied how lovely you are. Do you mean it?” he asks suddenly, abandoning the concept of plates for platters. “About leaving for good?”

 

Judal scowls, immediately grabbing and gnawing on a wing, and in short order, the rest of the bird is gone, too. "Definitely don't want to go back," she mutters, flopping across the table to grab a handful of dates. "They wouldn't let me _out_ for months. All the magic seals… uggh, I don't remember most of it. Kept giving me stuff." Judal shivers hard, and stuffs another few dates into her mouth. "All because Kouen is just…" 

 

Sinbad’s brow furrows. He grabs a leg, chewing absently, prepared to relinquish it if Judal starts to look hungrier than the kitchens can accommodate. “Wouldn’t let you out? They were keeping you a _prisoner_?” The disgust on his face is palpable. “You should be the jewel of their courts, they should be fighting each other to give you gifts, and they locked you up?”

 

"Lot of good it did, anyway." Judal pulls a knee up to her chest, frowning as she rolls an apple in one hand before setting it down, her appetite suddenly and abruptly gone. "They _said_ it was to keep me safe. To make sure everything went okay. Well, it didn't." 

 

Sinbad reaches over, brushing a lock of coal black hair behind one ear. “Are you all right?” he asks, voice suddenly soft, gentle. “You….you look like you’ve seen a lot, recently.”

 

Her lower lip trembles before she can stop it, and Judal shakes her head slowly. "… There's a myth," she dully answers, poking at the abandoned apple to make it roll across the table. "A stupid one. Says if you knock a Magi up, they're bound to you--you know, just like if they had chosen you? Doesn't work. Al-Sarmen wanted Kouen to try anyway, just in case, because I was being 'stubborn.'"

 

Ah. Sinbad doesn’t like where this is going at all. “Sounds to me like Kouen doesn’t think very much of himself, if he thought he was so unworthy he could only get you that way.” He reaches a hand down, cupping her chin in one large palm. “Did he hurt you, sweetling? I wasn’t lying, you can stay here as long as you want, I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” And he’s already promising too much, but she looks so _sad_.

 

"K-Kouen didn't… didn't really hurt me." Ah, but it's hard not to feel tears pricking into her eyes when she _thinks about it_. "I like him a lot, you know? I want him to like me. That wasn't the bad part. Just--just afterwards. They wouldn't let me _leave_ , and it didn't…" Judal swallows, pulling away and grabbing a fork to stab it into something. "It didn't matter. It died, anyway."

 

The lump in Sinbad’s chest is back, and he’s not really _thinking_ , which is his only excuse for why he simply grabs the Magi, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around her small frame. “I’m sorry,” he says into the mass of her hair, smelling of spice and darkness and ice. “I’m sorry.”

 

Oh. 

 

It's actually a little shocking how quickly she wants to unravel when she's held like this. It's been nearly a year, after all, since Judal's last seen Sinbad, and months still, since… well, _it died_. No one's exactly said _I'm sorry_ \--more like _we'll try again later_ , which sends a shiver down her spine and makes her want to _hide_. It had _hurt_ , had been terrifying in a way that she's not _supposed_ to be scared, Magis aren't _scared_ of things--

 

Judal shivers again, curling into a tight, tiny little ball within Sinbad's hold, butting her face into his chest and hiding it there. "Didn't happen to you, wasn't yours," she mumbles. "Why are _you_ sorry?" 

 

Sinbad strokes a broad hand down Judal’s back, the other in her hair, stroking and caressing and _holding_ , making sure she feels safe, feels warm, feels as much comfort as is possible after something like that. “Just...sorry. Sorry it happened. Sorry it happened to you, that I couldn’t….” He kisses her hair, sighing out a breath. “I’m sorry the child died. I would have liked to have met him, one day.” Sinbad doesn’t know how he knows the babe was male, but he’s almost entirely certain.

 

"… Magi aren't really supposed to have babies, anyway. Bad idea," Judal eventually murmurs, keeping her face firmly pressed into Sinbad's chest. "Was born like three months early, something like that. He… it… never cried or anything… does that even count? I didn't… see its rukh." 

 

 _Wish I could take you away from all this. Wish I’d done it in the first place, done it months ago. Wish you’d let me even now._ “It counts if you want it to count,” Sinbad says quietly. He shifts slightly, getting her as comfortable as he can. Unstable or not, he can’t deny that she’s always felt good in his arms. “But….if you didn’t want it….” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You’re a child of the rukh. It loves you, moves through you like no one I’ve ever seen. If it weren’t happy to see a child in you, if _you_ weren’t happy about it….I don’t think there would be any hope.”

 

 _That_ makes her a little panicky, and she lifts her head, suddenly worried beyond what she should be, considering it's all done and over. "It wasn't that I didn't _want it_ \--I mean, I… it's not like I'd be a good mother at all, because I _wouldn't_ , but they were going to take it anyway and… but I wouldn't want it to _die_ , you don't think…" Judal flops down, suddenly so tired that holding her head up hurts, and so she props her chin up on his shoulder instead. "I never need to have babies," she mumbles. "Not good at it. Even after it was born, I didn't… I wasn't even making milk, and when I finally _did_ , it would've been way too late anyway, and it made me all sore and gross, and _then_ they practically _starved_ _me_ to make it all dry up and go away. Hate babies." 

 

Sinbad presses her face closer to his chest, sighing out a hiss. “You,” he says carefully, “make me want to go to war for you. You don’t have to go back to them. Not ever, not to anyone who would use you like that.” He pulls away, kissing her closed eyes, one at a time. “You look exhausted. Sleep, then more food when you feel better?”

 

Her lip trembles again, and Judal cracks an eye open to look back up at him. "I _told you_ to keep me," she whispers, trying not to shiver. "Wanna sleep with you." 

 

Sinbad stands, gathering the little magi in his arms. “Come on, I have a pillowy guest chamber reserved for princesses, it’s almost good enough for you. Better than mine, anyway.” It’s a short walk, too, until he’s laying Judal down on the furnishings, tugging the coverlet over both of them. He buries his face in her hair, murmuring, “If you’re really never going back to them, I’ll keep you. And you can be here, with me, forever.”

 

Right then, _nothing_ sounds better. Judal curls herself up against his chest, clinging to him with desperate, grabby hands as she buries herself as close as she possibly can. "I wanna stay," she mumbles, already half-asleep.

 

Sinbad feels something, bright white and luminescent, spiraling into the night sky somewhere beyond his sight.

 

But Judal is warm, and clingy, and she needs him, so Sinbad ignores it in favor of sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Sinbad sleeps well, curled up with Judal against his chest. In fact, he sleeps so well that it takes a servant hovering nervously, venturing so far as to touch his shoulder in order to wake him. 

 

He blinks, up into the face of one of the maids he’d assigned Ja’far when she’d simply given up on leaving the bed for the foreseeable future. “Yes?”

 

“It’s….Ja’far, Majesty.”

 

Sinbad comes fully awake in an instant. “What about her? Speak!”

 

“She’s….she sent word to you that she’s having the child.”

 

Sinbad climbs out of bed as quietly as possible, then starts to sprint down the hall, ignoring the servant’s call of, “She said you don’t need to hurry!”

 

Sinbad reaches Ja’far’s door (his own), hurrying to her side to take her hand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t here, are you all right, are you hurting, is anything going wrong, did you call the midwife?”

 

"Should I have?" To be fair, far more important to focus on is the sort of odd, rolling pains that creep up her spine. They've been going on for a few hours now, increasing in frequency with no real urgency, and Ja'far supposes she's been drifting in and out of sleep for some time now. She blinks up at Sinbad, still a little sleepy, for that matter. "It started a few hours ago. I waited until I thought you might at least be marginally close to waking up. Did you sleep well?" 

 

Sinbad’s mouth opens, then closes. Of course, if anyone _would_ have an easy time of something like this, it’s Ja’far, who he’s seen half-gutted and calmly stuffing her insides back in. “Are you sure it’s starting? I’m pretty certain there’s supposed to be screaming.”

 

"Oh, no, it's definitely starting. I'll probably curse your name when it starts coming _out_ , as I believe that's sort of customary," Ja'far sighs, twitching a little with the next contraction. "Until then, you can leave. Sorry about the sheets--mattress, really. A new one would be good after this." 

 

Sinbad scowls, pulling up a chair and stroking a hand over Ja’far’s forehead, down through her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not leaving your side. Ah, until the screaming starts, that is.”

 

"… But I don't really imagine myself screaming? Ah, that one hurt," Ja'far grumbles, annoyance creasing her brow. "You know, if she _does_ try to fight her way out, I'll be terribly annoyed. She'd really be your daughter, then, incapable of doing anything _simply_. Oh, what did Judal want, by the way? I think I slept through that." 

 

Sinbad pats a soothing hand on Ja’far’s shoulder, a bit nervous to pat anywhere lower no matter that she doesn’t _look_ like any birthing woman he’s ever seen, though it’s been several years. “She slipped her leash. Al-Sarmen has been treating her too cruelly for words, I offered her asylum.”

 

"God, you're an idiot," Ja'far groans, another contraction making her grip his hand in a vice-tight grip. "She's going to be a royal brat again within the day--ahh, seriously, _leave me_ before I reach over and start clawing your eyes out for _doing this to me_." 

 

Oddly enough, that puts Sinbad somewhat at his ease, hearing the curse come from her mouth. At least that sounds like a woman on the verge of giving birth. Maybe his child will be a fighter after all. The ghost of Judal’s whisper is in his head, whispering that maybe the babe won’t live, there will be no rukh….

 

 _Come on, girl, fight your way out. Your mother is strong, she can take it._ “I think I’ll go for the midwife, shall I?”

 

"So long as she knows I'm not moving and if she tries to poke and prod at me, I'll kill her," Ja'far growls, releasing Sinbad's hand with another huff of breath. "I've got Balalark Sei underneath my pillow, don't think I won't use it!"

 

Sinbad is entirely too glad to flee the room, and he’s memorized the way to the midwife’s dwelling months ago, waiting, training, preparing for this day. He practically hauls her out of bed, nearly carries her himself when she takes several minutes to put a basket together, and not until she snaps at him, “Get a pot of boiled water and an armful of clean linen!” does he leave her side.

 

It's some time before Judal wakes enough to pull herself out of bed, and even then it's only because she's lacking the warm, strong pillow she's rather missed snuggling herself up into after all these months. Sinbad is as easy to find as always if she just _looks_ , and trailing a blanket as she sleepily floats her way down the halls, the perplexing sight of him looking entirely stressed outside of his own bedroom is how she finds him. 

 

"… What's going on?" The snarl of a curse in a rather unfamiliar language from inside the room interrupts her, and realization dawns on Judal. " _Oh_. Already?" _Guess Freckles did look really huge._

 

“Apparently,” Sinbad mutters, seizing onto Judal as a comfort after hearing Ja’far scream. She sounds _awful_ , as if her soul is being ripped out, no matter that the midwife assures him that means the child’s a fighter. He wraps his arms around Judal, tugging her close in her blanket cocoon. “Ah, you women are so much stronger than we are.”

 

Judal blinks, though she's not exactly going to _complain_ about being a stress ball of sorts. "Mmn. She doesn't sound too bad, though," she mumbles, propping her chin up onto Sinbad's shoulder. "Wow, Freckles was big, though. You could barely even tell I was pregnant at all. What if she has more than one?"

 

“Then my halls will have twice as many pattering feet,” Sinbad says, casting a hundred nervous glances at the closed door, hearing curses in unfamiliar tongues. “I only counted four punching limbs--the babe is a fighter, that’s for certain. I…” His face goes pale, hearing the next shout, and he sinks back against the wall.

 

"… Her rukh looks fine, you know," Judal uncomfortably says, not really sure how else to be of comfort when Sinbad is making faces like that. "The baby's, too." 

 

Sinbad pauses, taking Judal’s head in his hands and leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Thank you,” he says softly. “You’re a comfort, you know that?”

 

 _I'm not very good at it._ The praise makes her relax a little bit all the same. "She's not even being that noisy, she'll be fine. _I_ clawed someone's eyes out, apparently." Never mind that she doesn't remember it. 

 

Sinbad pulls up a chair, tugging Judal onto one knee and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Well, you didn’t have me there to hold your hand.” He furrows his brow. “Then again, she did kick me out rather quickly. And….ah, not to be indelicate, but you’re young, for babies. I wasn’t even sure you were bleeding yet.”

 

"You wouldn't've wanted to hold my hand, I was loud," Judal sighs, flopping into his chest. It hurts a little less, knowing that Sinbad would have at least _wanted_ to. "And yeah, I'm only 15. I bled once… they didn't really wanna wait much longer after that." 

 

Sinbad’s face twists in a scowl, running his hands up and down her back, tangling in her hair and moving in soothing, scratching little motions against her scalp. Sure, he’d bedded the girl too, but he hadn’t been _trying_ to get her pregnant, and he _had_ asked if it was a safe day. Also true, she’d just cocked her head and gone on doing what she was doing without a care, but the point is, he’d _tried_. “I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “You never have to go back. You’re welcome here, with me, any time.” He feels the words reverberate, like plucking a deep string on a musical instrument.

 

"Don't wanna leave," Judal agrees, eyes lidding as she sags forward, a rumbling, purring sound exhaled from her throat. Kind of odd, how her rukh flutters and twitches at the very notion, but she ignores it for now. Maybe she's still just hungry. "Mnn… feels good, no one is as good at that as you are."

 

“Good thing for you I like doing it,” Sinbad rumbles deep in his chest. He winces hard at the next yell, burying his face in Judal’s hair. It feels like it’s been _hours_ since Ja’far woke him up, but a glance at the window shows that it’s been minutes at best. “Ah, just don’t worry any more about it. You’ll never have to do anything like that again.”

 

"… I wouldn't mind, if it was you." Judal butts her head up gently. She doesn't _like_ Ja'far, but she likes even less the stressed faces Sinbad is making. "But I don't think I'm supposed to be a mom. Not good at it. Maybe just stick to Freckles."

 

“She didn’t want it either,” Sinbad admits, and now that he’s hearing the screams, he feels a lot more guilty about that. “I generally try not to give my children to any woman who doesn’t want them, though.”

 

"It isn't that I wouldn't want it, just…" Judal trails off when the screams suddenly _stop_ , and she heaves a sigh, tension she didn't know she was _feeling_ untwisting in her gut in short order. "See, good," she murmurs, plucking a bit of newly born rukh from the air and making it visible, just long enough for Sinbad to see--before it turns black with her touch, at any rate. 

 

Sinbad sits up with a jolt, eyes wide in something like _wonder_. “Is….is that….”

 

The door opens, and the midwife emerges, shaking her head. “She says she can stand to be around you now,” she reports, basket over one arm. 

 

Sinbad sets Judal carefully on her feet, then hurries into the room, face changing in wonder at the sight of Ja’far holding a cloth-wrapped bundle to her chest. He sits in the seat next to her, wrapping one arm around them both. “Is it….a she?”

 

"I win," Ja'far wearily confirms, flopping to the side a bit to lean against Sinbad as she blows a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her face. The baby in her arms gurgles, giving a loud suck from where she's fastened to one of Ja'far's breasts, and the woman rolls her eyes. "Definitely your child, girl or not. Barely even cried once she was out, immediately went for my breasts. I'm still going to kill you, I think." 

 

Sinbad isn’t quite sure what the smile on his face is doing, but his mouth and cheeks ache with it. No matter how many of his children he’s seen, this one is _different_ , a dark dusting of hair most of what’s visible over the swell of her mother’s breast, a little hand coming up to thump demandingly against it for more. “She’s--both of you--so _perfect_. You were wrong," he says, delighted. "Nothing wrong with her, all her fingers, all her toes, you were the perfect mother after all."

 

"Dumb luck," she sighs in response, eyes lidding sleepily. "Must be some of yours sinking into me after so long. Otherwise, I'm not sure where it comes from. Ah-- _ow_ , if you ever suck on me like that, I'll _definitely_ gut you," Ja'far grumbles.

 

“Just don’t take any poisons while you’re feeding the baby,” Sinbad cautions, voice dreamy as he stares at the little thing. “Oh, does she have a name yet? I want to put it on the papers.”

 

"I'm hardly so careless." Ja'far tilts her head contemplatively. "And no, I thought _you_ were going to name her."

 

“Sindiana.”

 

"Rejected. Try again."

 

“Does it have to have a Ja’ in it?”

 

"Oh, no. That's not even my real name, you know, even if my culture _did_ follow some sort of odd naming rule." 

 

“Ah, good.” Sinbad reaches down to touch the child’s head, marveling at how warm, how soft the skin is. “Sinria. Roksana. Sinjaria. Jasmine. Sinbaddia. Priyaa. Sindriana. Did I already suggest Sindriana?”

 

"You and your _Sin_ names," Ja'far grumpily mutters, rolling her eyes. "Roksana will do. Save Jasmine for another one. The others are out, period."

 

Sinbad ignores the slight to his picked out names. Far more interesting is reaching down and stroking a finger down a tiny nose. “Roksana.”

 

~~

 

It's difficult, catching Sinbad minus his new child.

 

It's something that isn't quite jealousy that churns through Judal each time she sees it--sees him with  Ja'far, or minus his advisor, simply holding the baby in question. No, not jealousy, more so… ugh, she doesn't know. It hurts, though. It twists in her chest and makes her remember too-clearly the last year, and how much she _hated it_ and how the way Sinbad treats his daughter and Ja'far is the exact opposite of all of that. 

 

It hurts more, knowing she won't _really_ be able to stay.

 

Al-Sarmen is watching her. Judal feels it during all the times she least expects it, and it keeps her awake some nights, though most of the time she's a little too wary to sneak into Sinbad's bed. Ja'far might be there, or worse, Ja'far and that baby, and so… 

 

So it's best to catch him during the day.

 

His desk is a good place to start. Plopping herself down onto it while the man works is easy enough, and she _does_ try not to knock over ink or anything like that. 

 

Sinbad looks up, face lighting at the sudden appearance of Judal on his desk. She’s been clingy, and _sweet_ as of late, with a bone-deep sadness about her that makes his heart ache, and he can’t help but think secretly that it’s better it happened now, rather than later. She’d been getting worse every time he saw her, more unhinged with every visit, and now she seems more like the girl he’d first met than ever.

 

If a world more broken, that is.

 

He slides his hands up her legs, wrapping them around his waist to pull her close, laying a cheek on the inside of one thigh. “Get bored of waiting? Come to play?”

 

Judal pouts at him, wriggling to poke at him with one bare foot. "You're _hard_ to get alone these days," she complains, dropping a hand on top of his head and tugging lightly at his hair. "Really bored."

 

Sinbad laughs, leaning back and catching her arm as it follows, pulling the girl into his lap. “Interesting times,” he admits. “It’s a shock to me too, I promise. But don’t think I wouldn’t make time for you.” He leans in, nibbling on her neck, one arm curling around her waist to pull her closer.

 

Ah. That's nicer. 

 

Judal happily plops down, wriggling her way into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. "But you _haven't_. I've never seen you with any of your kids before," she points out, huffing a little as she tilts her head to catch one hoop of an earring with her teeth. "Maybe you're getting _old_ and wanting to _settle_. Or something." 

 

 _Or maybe it’s just that it’s Ja’far._ Sinbad doesn’t say that, though he does make a face at the idea that _getting old_ is somehow behind his sudden interest in Roksana. “I’ve just never seen one of my children grow up so close to me before,” he points out. “They change so much every day, it’s shocking, it….ahhh….” He trails off into a pleased little noise, one hand sliding down to cup Judal’s ass. “You look positively indecent in those clothes, you know. Gives me bad thoughts.”

 

That's a better topic than babies. _Babies_ still make her stress, and definitely don't make her blood pump in a good way, not like Sinbad's grabbing hands or the way he compliments her. "I wear stuff like this all the time," Judal points out, sighing as she squirms closer, hands sliding up the back of his neck to sink into his hair. "Tell me what kinda thoughts." 

 

“Mmm, makes me want to take it off of you.” Sinbad hooks a finger in the waistband of her pants, sliding it around, fingers just dipping down inside. “Or better yet, leave some of it on….and have you anyway. Maybe right here on my desk.” He should feel more guilty about this, probably.

 

"The good thing," Judal happily replies, all but purring at the attention, "is that _some things_ are easy to hike up." A little wriggle proves that well enough, a heave of her chest all it really takes to make her shirt slide up just a bit further. "I promise I won't mess up your paperwork… well, _too much_ , at any rate."

 

Sinbad urges her up onto her knees, nuzzling into her belly and working his way up, tongue and teeth leaving gentle little brushes against tanned skin, nudging at the pert, full breasts just barely exposed. They’re _firm_ , and he slides the shirt up just a bit more, closing his mouth around a nipple and sucking, hand squeezing her ass as he moans. “Your skin,” he murmurs, switching to the other breast, “tastes _so_ good.”

 

There should be a law, Judal hazily thinks, what with how _sensitive_ she apparently is now. Maybe it's just the nerves that are a little bit frayed around the edges or something--ahh, but it feels _good_ , really good, having Sinbad's mouth on her skin after so long, and Judal whimpers, clutching at his hair as she sags back against the desk, breath escaping as a hot, ragged little thing. "Your… a-ah… your mouth feels… really hot now," she groans, biting her lip to keep back a whine. "Don't remember it being like that before…"

 

“Maybe you’ve just been playing with ice too much.” The heat between her spread legs is intoxicating against him, enticing, and the noises coming from Sinbad’s mouth are _hungry_. “What do you want?” he breathes, looking up to meet her eyes, chin resting on her belly. “Hard and fast and I take you just like this? Or should I take my time with you, let you see how my mouth feels _everywhere_?”

 

Judal shivers _hard_ , no matter the heat sharply coursing through her at the promise of _that_ , and she squirms, giving a little tug on his hair to try and urge him down. "Please." She wishes it didn't sound so _needy_ , but there's no helping it, not after so long. "You're the only one that ever… takes care of me." She swallows, breath hitching. "Like that." 

 

Sinbad stares for a minute, dumbfounded. Surely, she can’t mean--

 

But she does. It doesn’t make any sense to him, but she does.

 

He shakes his head slowly, tugging her waistband down and urging her to sit on the desk, easing her thighs apart. “I do not understand other men,” he murmurs, trailing the tip of his tongue up the inside of one thigh, flicking it out to drag up her slit. The taste is a heady, powerful thing that almost makes him dizzy with how fast his blood rushes south, and everything else he’d intended to say gets lost in a wash of hormones as he lurches forward with a groan.

 

It's difficult not to _shriek_. 

 

Sinbad's mouth feels even hotter between her legs, and Judal moans, her head lolling over the side of the desk as she simply flops back over it, braid tumbling over the side in short order, too. She whines, uncaring if she looks and sounds like a harlot when his tongue feels so _good_ , and she twists, squirming to better spread her legs, grabbing a little desperately for his hair to eagerly pull. "R-really good," she huffs out, eyes fluttering. God, she'd almost _forgotten_ about this.

 

Judal’s legs spread so wide, lean, young thing that she is, that it’s easy to slide his tongue inside her, tasting her from the inside as he slides his hands up to her inner thighs, caressing and massaging. She’s sensitive, needy, and the taste, the scent of her is all he can think of when he licks up into her, then moves to suck on her clit for just a brief, teasing moment before sliding his tongue back inside. “Good,” he agrees, trying to take it slow and make sure she _enjoys_.

 

Ah, _god_ , Sinbad isn't _fair_. It's been a _while_ since she's had a man inside of her--longer still, since she's had Sinbad's mouth there, his tongue wriggling and it's just _not fair_ how good it feels. Little tremors, shivers rake down Judal's spine, making her thighs bunch and twitch underneath his kneading fingers, and she whines, whimpering as her back arches, her fingers twisting against his scalp. "Really… really missed this," she pants out, eyes rolling back with the aching shudder that slides through her. "P-please… just… a little more and I…"

 

Sinbad pulls his mouth away for a brief moment, letting his hand snake up, thumb rubbing in gentle, lazy circles on her clit as he murmurs, “You don’t need to beg me, sweet. I said I’ll take care of you.”

 

He lets his hand stay, a long finger sliding up inside her, not enough to stretch, just enough to let her _feel_ , enough to feel the clench of her muscles as he runs the flat of his tongue up, closing his lips around the little pink bud.

 

" _Ah_ \--" The long press of Sinbad's finger inside of her-- _that_ makes her lurch up, groaning, squirming down onto his hand as much as his mouth. Judal bites at her own lip, eyes squeezing shut, her brow furrowing with every twitch of her hips, every quiver that slithers its way down her spine, seemingly intent on pooling between her legs. She's _wet_ , dripping all the more with every suck and lave of his tongue, and there's no _helping_ the sharp, eager build of it all, nor the way she's abruptly shoved over the edge, and Judal comes with a ragged gasp, deep, rolling twinges of pleasure making her shudder and clench, twisting on his desk as she nearly sobs.

 

Sinbad stays between Judal’s legs until she relaxes, letting her ride out her orgasm on his face, content to be shoved down there and gripped with lean, slender thighs. When the shocks subside, and he’s licked every drop he can reach off of and out of her, he finally pulls slowly away, an easy tug bringing her back into his lap. “Someone’s been a little tense, hmm? Feel better now?”

 

Judal just moans, flopping forward uselessly into his chest, her face nuzzling dazedly into Sinbad's neck. "Uh huh," she finally manages to sigh out, vision still a little fuzzy around the edges as her chest heaves. "Really gooooood." 

 

“Don’t let it go so long without throwing me down, next time.” Sinbad tightens an arm around her waist, nuzzling into her. “Just let me know that my girl needs to be taken care of.”

 

"But you've been _busy_." _His_ girl, though. That sends a pleased shiver down her spine and Judal paws at his chest before letting her hand slide lower, making a lazy grab for his cock. "Maybe _you're_ a little tense, too."

 

“More than a little,” Sinbad admits, shivering at the touch, hips twitching up into Judal’s touch. It’s been months of soreness, of baby-holding, of wet rags and odd-colored fluids, and death-glares whenever he tries to hand the child off whenever she makes a mess. He’s enjoyed almost every second, but there’s been precious little time for having attractive young girls grabbing at his cock. “Looks like you found a toy. What do you want to do with it?”

 

"Want it in me." It doesn't even take a second for her to breathe those words, not when her fingers are already prying at the ties of Sinbad's robes. "No one fills me up like you do, either," Judal murmurs, nuzzling into his neck, nibbling and nipping into the curve of his shoulder. "You can have me however you want, I don't care."

 

“Just like this.” Sinbad’s mouth finds its way back to Judal’s breasts, nipping and tugging at those hard nipples, shoving everything else to the side that could possibly get in the way of _having_ her, suddenly realizing he’s so hard he’s been aching for a while. It’s too fast, the way he grabs at her, pulls her down until the head of his cock is just barely pressing against her hole, and lurches up, burying himself deep inside with a feral growl. 

 

She’s still _tiny_ , really, small for her age and without an ounce of fat on her, except the firm high breasts and a bit of ass, and Sinbad fills his hands and mouth, urging her down. “Ride me,” he groans, and _bites_.

 

Judal's mouth falls open, her back a taut, trembling arc when she's pulled down, suddenly and completely stuffed _full_ of him. A high, breathless noise pulls from her throat, a broken little moan after that, especially when she's pulled and bitten and shoved, and all she can think about is wriggling down onto Sinbad's cock, panting at the long, hard slide of it, the way he presses so deep inside of her that she can't _breathe_ and she's _never_ been so eager to plant shivery, wobbly knees and writhe her way up and down. 

 

It’s difficult to remember the last time Sinbad had been so _hard_. There’s no blood left in the rest of him, not when he _throbs_ every second he’s inside her, breath hitching with every motion of her hips up and down, up and down, sinking onto him deeper every time. “Goes nice and deep like this,” he breathes, voice rumbling against her chest, hands gripping her waist. “Just like that, sweet, let me feel how much you want me in there.” 

 

He mouthes hot, wet kisses over her breasts, then up to her neck, nipping sharply at the skin, hands digging deep enough to leave bruises. “Can you take it harder?” he pants out, thrusting up into her with her next downward wriggle.

 

Judal _whines_ , helplessly nodding, her chest heaving, breasts bouncing with the hard shove up him up into her that leaves her gasping for air. "W-want… want it to feel like you own me," she pants out, eyes lidded, unfocused when her cheeks flush hot and her lips part to suck in a deep ragged draught of air. She's trembling, muscles clenching tighter still around Sinbad when he slides in so deep that it _aches_ , and Judal _tries_ to wriggle her way up, really tries, but her legs feel so weak that there's little she can do but surrender to the pull and push of him, the way his cock shoves up into her and leaves her swallowing hard at the stretch of it. Only _Sinbad_ is so hot, so _hard_ inside of her. " _Please_ \--"

 

It’s too much for her, Sinbad can tell.

 

He’s not here to hurt her, to drive her forcibly off any peak, to make her feel used and broken tomorrow like she’s been trampled--he just _needs_.

 

With hardly a bit of effort, he rises, pinning Judal against the wall, holding her there with the strength of his arms as he lurches up into her again and again, hips slapping hard against hers with an obscene wet noise. “You,” he grunts, almost unable to breathe at the _squeeze_ of her alone, the way it feels so good it _hurts_ around his cock, “feel too good. Drive me--mad--ahh--with how much I want you--come on, love, come for me again--show me how much you _love_ the way I use you, girl--”

 

She _hardly_ needs to be told twice. 

 

It's the easy strength with which he tosses her around that does her in, the fact he's never rough, never _hurts_ her, but god, Sinbad knows how to _use her_ , and that's the best part. Judal groans, shuddering, writhing and squirming on his cock, clawing scratches down his back as she whines and tries her best to rut against him, her eyes rolling back with the slick grind of their bodies together. It _aches_ when she comes this time, a deep-rooted shudder twitching through her as she comes around Sinbad's cock, and she bites her lip until it nearly bleeds, her nails biting into his shoulders as helpless, mindless little whimpers and mewls pull from her throat with every shuddering clench.

 

Everything is too _much_. 

 

The scratch of Judal’s nails, the clench of her thighs, the squeeze around his cock, not least of all the mindless, shuddering keens of pleasure in his ear, are far, far too much for Sinbad. 

 

He slams home when he loses himself, yanking her down as he’s rougher than he’d have liked, as worked up as he is, rougher than he would be with any other girl that didn’t drive him so _mad_ , and groans out her name into her ear when he spills, filling her deep inside. 

 

Even now, the strength of his arms doesn’t fail either of them, and it’s long minutes before he gently, slowly sets her on her feet, cupping her chin and leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I was too rough, I know.”

 

Judal wobbles, clutching at him as her knees threaten to give out. "Nooo… really good," she sighs out, flopping forward to nuzzle her face pointedly into his chest. She shivers, feeling the trickling mess that slides down her thighs, and promptly worms her way closer, clinging to Sinbad with her fingers tangling up into his hair. "Y-you can do it again… I like it." 

 

Judal is probably the only other person who’s taken him at his most savage and asked for more, and just the _existence_ of someone like her burns like a pleasing little fire in his chest. “Yeah,” he promises, reaching down to scoop her up, tossing one of his robes around both of them as he leaves the room. “Let’s just get to the bed first, eh? Then we can fall asleep after we collapse.”

 

"Your bed?" she hopefully asks, snuggling her way against Sinbad's chest as her arms wind their way around his neck. "It's really squishy." 

 

“If you don’t mind sharing with Ja’far and Roksana,” Sinbad says with a shrug. “They’re a bit...permanent.”

 

"Oh." Judal frowns. "Don't think Freckles wants me there." _And I don't really want to be around babies, besides_. "Another bed, then."

 

“I put you in the visiting queen’s suite,” Sinbad reminds her. “It’s a better bed than mine. Don’t you like it? Even if I’m in it? And Ja’far hasn’t been rude to you, has she?”

 

"I knooow, it's just… it's not _your_ bed," Judal grumbles, trying not to pout. "And no, she's left me alone. And I've left her alone. It's still… ugh, forget it, any bed is fine." 


	6. Chapter 6

_What if she’s mad at me?_

 

That probably shouldn’t be the first thought in the Kou Empire Third Prince’s head. Then again, maybe if Judal hadn’t gone skipping off into nothingness to flirt with some king of another country, Kougyokan wouldn’t _have_ to wonder.

 

He leans against the bow of the ship, biting his lip in worry as Sindria comes closer and closer, advisors gratefully giving him some space. King Sinbad is supposed to be a good king, from what he’s heard, and has never tried keeping Judal against her will _before_ , but….

 

_If it were nothing, En wouldn’t have sent me._

 

_Maybe._

 

_Unless he’s just trying to get rid of me._

 

_Again._

 

That only gives Kougyokan a headache, so he ignores it. En isn’t shoving him to the side out of anything important, and Judal isn’t just running off to a King with more dungeons.

 

Probably.

 

Unless she is.

 

Unless she’s mad.

 

One earthshattering meeting with King Sinbad later, Kougyokan is given a room, and the promise that someone will summon him soon for supper, and attend every one of his whims. Once alone, he shuts the door on Ka Koubun and every other well-meaning attendant, flopping onto the bed to certainly not think about the odd heat that had risen in his chest the second King Sinbad had smiled like that.

 

Maybe he can understand Judal’s fascination with Sindria now, just a bit.

 

"Kougyoku!"

 

The bouncing, rather _squirmy_ ball of energy that is Judal finds her way onto the prince's bed in short order, tumbling in through a window and landing rather gracelessly onto his chest, the gauzy lightness of Sindrian robes fluttering as she does. "You came all this way, was it just to see me?" she hums, leaning down with a grin. "Or was it because of _Sinbad?_ I saw the way you were looking at him, don't liiie." 

 

Kougyokan nearly has a heart attack, though really, he should be _used_ to Judal’s ways by now. Then again, there’s really no such thing as getting used to Judal. “I--that’s really inappropriate!” he squeaks, hands firmly pressed to the bed to avoid grabbing the little wretch to throw her off (more inappropriate). “And get my name right, I’m not a girl! So I don’t look at men, god!”

 

"But 'Gyoku' suits you more than 'Gyokan'," Judal lightly replies, flopping down to rest her chin in her hands, feet slowly kicking back and forth. "And I know plenty of men that look at men. Hey, why'd you cut your hair off again? I like it better long."

 

“This is how all the men are wearing their hair at court now,” Kougyokan protests, bringing a hand up self-consciously to the flyaway strands around his face, and the rest of it upswept into a knot at the top of his head. “Y-you shouldn’t sit on me like that, it’s really not proper.”

 

"Don't like it." _Looks way too much like En's._ Judal forgoes saying that in favor of twisting a strand of it around one finger, the pull on it immediately making it much, much longer. "And what's not proper about it? I missed you, you're comfortable. Also, you're here to see me, right? Here I am."

 

Kougyokan’s face flushes, and he nods cautiously. If he ignores the fact that it’s Judal’s thighs and ass touching him, it feels really nice, after all. “I--I missed you too. You’ve been gone for a _long_ time, I was afraid you’d died or something, and En wouldn’t tell me why you left, and….why did you go?”

 

Judal's face twists. "Why do we have to talk about that? Maybe I just got sick of Kou and En and _everyone_."

 

“And me?” He keeps his voice quiet, but that doesn’t keep the hurt out of it. “I mean, it’s fine, I just--does Sinbad make you happy at least? Are you going to stay with him?” 

 

"Well… I wasn't mad at you or anything. I just couldn't tell you I was leaving, then if _you_ knew _you'd_ get in trouble…" Judal sighs, flopping her head down against Kougyokan's shoulder. "Of course Sinbad makes me happy. I dunno if I can stay, though." 

 

“I see how unhappy you get sometimes.” Hesitantly, one of Kougyokan’s hands comes up, brushing over the top of Judal’s head, stroking it gently. “I’ll try to make you happier when you come home, okay?”

 

"… Don't be dumb." Something _twists_ in her chest, and she butts her head up against the boy's hand. "I think I'm just gonna run away or something. I dunno." 

 

“Won’t…” Kougyokan clears his throat. Dumb thing, frogging up. “Won’t they come looking for you? If….if you’re alone, I mean?”

 

"Probably, but it's better than waiting around in Kou, don't you think?" Judal sighs a long, heavy breath. "I can't stay here forever, though. I think that Sinbad mostly just pities me, even if he's really nice."

 

“I’m nice,” Kougyokan mutters, then looks away as his cheeks turn pink. “I mean, it’s really rude of you to just leave, you know! You should just pick a king, then everyone will leave you alone.”

 

Judal sets her chin atop his chest to better peer up at him. "Gyoku's cute when he blushes… and anyway, if I don't pick who they want, they'll still bug me. Go conquer another dungeon, maybe I'll pick you."

 

“It’s _Gyokan_! I mean, Kougyokan!” He huffs out a breath, trying to wriggle his way upright. “You think I have enough magoi to conquer another one?”

 

"Maybe. But Vinea's a really good djinn, anyway," Judal sighs out, following Kougyokan's wriggle upward by simply clinging to his shoulders. "Don't kick me ooooff, you're warm and squishy!"

 

“I’m--I’m not _squishy_!” Kougyokan squeaks, mortified. “That’s muscle, you brat! And at least if I conquered another dungeon, maybe I could get an equip that doesn’t give me--you-know-whats!”

 

"But you look good with boobs. I mean, you're already pretty, so it's not a _stretch_ …" Judal idly yanks open Kougyokan's robes, giving his side a pinch. "That's no muscle, that's squish. Don't shriek about it, I like it!" 

 

At that, Kougyokan _does_ dump Judal onto her ass, standing up and yanking his robes shut with a jerk. “That’s really _rude_ , Judal! En already teases me for being soft, you don’t have to too!”

 

"Owww," Judal whines, flopping down right where she's been dropped with a deep pout. "But I wasn't teasing! I said I liked it, didn't I? You're really mean, what kind of man treats a lady like that?"

 

Kougyokan bites back a retort, remembering too late the rules of chivalry, and extends a hand down to help her up. “Sorry. But that’s not a compliment for a man, Ju! You have to tell us that we’re big and strong and hairy.”

 

Judal huffs, but takes the boy's hand anyway and hauls herself to her feet (sort of floating). "But I don't… okay, the big and strong part is nice, but I don't like it when you're hairy unless it's on your head. Long hair there is really nice. And annnnyway," she sighs, draping herself forward to flop into Kougyokan's chest, "you're still strong even if you're squishy! I've seen it, I know."

 

“Personal space,” Kougyokan mutters, though he doesn’t push her off again. If anything, the hand twining with hers brings the Magi a bit closer. “Hey….tell me the truth. I know En and this Sinbad guy are way stronger than me and you like them more, but if I captured some more dungeons, would you ever….you know?”

 

Judal's eyes lid, her chin hooking itself over Kougyokan's shoulder. "Never said I liked them more," she murmurs, frowning a little. Well. That's not entirely true, at least when it comes to Sinbad. But Kouen… a little shiver goes down her spine, and she wriggles her way closer, 'personal space' the furthest thing from her mind. "I think… it would get you in trouble." 

 

“But if I had you….we wouldn’t have to worry about getting into trouble, would we?” Kougyokan asks. Then he looks away, cheeks flushing as an arm comes instinctively around the Magi’s body. “Is it because I’ll never be king?”

 

"Sinbad's not even royal blood, so I don't care about that." Even if Kougyokan doesn't _like_ being called squishy, that softness is just enough to cuddle into, especially when he actually puts an arm around her. Judal butts her face into the side of his neck. "Even he'd get in trouble if I chose him. I think Al-Sarmen would get really pissed off. Not good." 

 

“So just choose En. They’ll get mad if you choose anyone but him anyway, and you like En, right?” Kougyokan cajoles, stroking the Magi’s hair. “He’d be really happy. I know he’s been awful lately, but….”

 

Judal swallows hard, annoyed at the lump that forms in her throat. It isn't even _Kouen_ she's mad at, she tries to remind herself. She likes Kouen, and logically, she wants to make him happy. 

 

But the prospect of being locked up in that room again, of being forced to _try again_ even after she's done what they asked and picked the king they wanted her to pick--

 

"… I don't want to. I don't… even want to go back. Ever." She sucks in a steadying breath, making to wriggle away. "If you came to drag me back, then you're out of luck!"

 

“But--” Kougyokan curses under his breath, grabbing at Judal’s waist, tugging her closer. “Ju, you’re going to get me in trouble! And if I go home and say that you won’t come back, En’s gonna lose it!” He sighs, frustrated, and brushes a lock of hair back from her face. “He said you were sick. Are you still sick? Is it better down here? I….I mean, I don’t like the idea of lying, but….if you _wanted_ me to, I guess I could say I didn’t see you….”

 

Judal's lower lip trembles in spite of herself, and she sags back onto her heels. "Don't… do that. He's gonna know you're lying, he's not stupid. Al-Sarmen would tell him, anyway. They know where I am, they're just… being _tolerant_ for now." Her gaze slides to the side, frustration and anger and that damned _lump_ in her throat welling up all the more. "I can't believe he said I was _sick_." 

 

The last of the anger disappears, replaced by concern and a certain amount of shyness for that concern. “Are you….not sick? That’s good, right? Why would En say you were sick if you weren’t?” 

 

A shadow falls over Kougyokan’s face then, remembering a few of the servant girls he’s heard were “sick” after spending the night with his big brother. “Um….you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

 

"To be fair, I was throwing up a lot," Judal mutters. "It's… it's not even En's fault. I _do_ like him. I just… ugh, don't _look_ at me like that. It _died_ , anyway," she says, trying to sound more angry and less _upset_. "I'm not good at this having babies thing, not like Freckles or--or--" _Pretty much every other woman Sinbad or Kouen ever seem to bed._

 

The blushes stop as the blood drains from Kougyokan’s face. “I….oh.”

 

Suddenly the question of _where should I put my hands_ gets even worse, and again, he settles for resting one on Judal’s head and letting the other flop down to the bed. “Look, I didn’t even think of that, I thought En beat on you. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” Somewhere buried very deep down, a secret, mad dream he’s had for a few years now dies quietly.

 

"En's never _hit me_ _\--"_ Gods, that would have been better. Judal huffs, and curls forward, burying herself more solidly against Kougyokan's chest. "Everyone else probably _knows_ by now," she miserably replies. "I don't think Magi are _supposed_ to have babies, but Al-Sarmen wanted me to anyway and they locked me up in that room forever and it didn't even _matter_ and--ugh, can't you just hold me properly, stop acting like I'm gross or something now!" 

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Kougyokan mutters under his breath, giving up trying to be _appropriate_ and wrapping his arms around Judal, pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin. “I don’t think you’re gross, stupid! I just thought you might hurt somewhere, I didn’t want to hurt you worse by grabbing at you.” He hesitates, then nuzzles down into the top of her head. “You’re still the same brat as ever to me.”

 

" _You're_ stupid. You can't say I'm a brat, I'm _older_ than you!" Judal buries her face firmly into his neck all the same, shivering as she curls up as close as she possibly can. "Stupid old man," she mutters, uncaring for the contradiction. "It was _months_ ago, I'm not hurting anywhere now."

 

“Oh. Well….good.” Kougyokan pulls her closer, drinking in the smell of her, chest aching from how badly he wishes now, more than ever, that Vinea had the power to turn back time--or that he were man enough, _king_ enough, to just whisk Judal away from all of this. “What do you want to do? I’ll help.”

 

"… Don't know." Judal's arms slide around him, clinging to his back as she rubs her face into his shoulder. "You could run away. Stay here with me."

 

“You said they’ll come for you,” Kougyokan says quietly. “I’d get in a lot more trouble than you would. En only has one Magi, he has two brothers.” _And he likes Mei better than me, and some of the girls a LOT better._

 

"… Yeah." It's still nice to think about. Judal's eyes lid tiredly. "I dunno. I don't think there's anything you can do. It's fine. I'll go back soon, I don't want you to get in trouble."

 

“I wouldn’t mind.” He would, of course. He’d mind if En looked at him like that dumb little fuck-up, like one of the empty-headed servants who’s knocked ink all over his important documents, only he’s not a servant that’s _allowed_ to be flogged in discipline. En’s opinion is important--but then again, keeping Judal safe is pretty important too.

 

"Don't be dumb, yes you do," Judal sighs, shutting her eyes entirely. "You came here to get me, didn't you? You don't wanna make everyone upset."

 

“I--”

 

Kougyokan’s cheeks color. “That was the only excuse I could think of to come find you,” he mumbles.

 

"… Gyoku's being cute again," she mumbles, and idly sets her teeth to his shoulder. "Rukh's pink, though. Creepy old man."

 

“I’m not an old man! I’m fourteen, god! And my name is _Kougyokan_ , you’re being….” _Really cute._ “Rude. Shut up or I’ll make you sleep in your own room.”

 

"Gyokan's too manly, though. I don't like it." She makes a face. "And you can't _make_ me do anything, I'm a Magi."

 

“I’m a prince!” Not that that’s ever meant much to stupid, gorgeous, powerful Judal. “You’re pretty rude to me, you know. Most princes would be really pissed off by that.”

 

"Except you," Judal points out with a bat of her eyelashes. "You like it." 

 

“I….don’t _mind_ it. When it’s you.” Kougyokan lets out a groan, and shoves Judal’s face down to his chest. “Just stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

 

"But I like it when Gyoku blushes," is the muffled response to follow, with Judal making no attempt to lift her head. Instead, she bites at the front of his robes, unraveling a tie with her teeth. "Even if he's a creep."

 

“Ju….” Kougyokan’s breath hitches, and he squirms a little under her hands, feeling the warmth of her breath, trying to think about his grandmother naked so he doesn’t bring shame to the family. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

 

'So?" 

 

A shove, and Kougyokan finds himself on his back, Judal perched quite happily above him. "I'm already in trouble," she reminds him, head cocking to the side. "This can't make it any worse." 

 

Kougyokan swallows hard, propping himself up on his elbows, trying not to look at the firm, perky breasts that Judal seems so determined to wave in his face and failing miserably. “But--I’m not supposed to touch you, En is gonna be really upset if he finds out!”

 

"So don't let him find out," Judal murmurs, grinning as she grabs a handful of Kougyokan's hair and pulls him forward until his face is flush with her chest. "You're staring at them so much, just enjoy them."

 

“ _Judal_!” Even speaking is ridiculously erotic, lewd when his face is pressed up against those perfectly curved little breasts, and all the blood in Kougyokan’s body rushes south as he hesitantly brings one hand up, cupping and stroking over one with as much gentleness as he’d hold a butterfly.

 

"Better." Judal hums, shoving the previous negativity of her mood aside when she has Kougyokan's face pressed against her and his hands _on her_ , and she lifts one hand, resting it over his to coax him to better cup and squeeze through thin fabric. "You're _cute_ ," she murmurs, wriggling in his lap, sighing a little at the press of his cock, already so _hard_. "I'm not gonna break, you know. You can grab me and stuff, I like it." 

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Kougyokan mutters, turning to mouth over the curve of one breast, feeling the pert nipple swell and harden through the fabric against his tongue. His breathing is short, and his thumb strokes gently as he looks up at her, shifting his hips a bit to get more of that nice _press_. “That’s no way to treat a lady, grabbing her and being mean. I know what I’m doing!”

 

"You do?" It's _meant_ to come out as a tease, but it comes out as far more an _agreement_ , what with how her breath catches, a mewl strangled into the back of her throat as she wriggles forward to press that hard, over-sensitive nipple against the slide of his tongue. "D-didn't say… you had to be mean about it." A downward squirm of her hips, and Judal feels the slide of his cock against her all the more, something that makes her eyes flutter. "I just like it when it feels like… you're making me yours." 

 

“Well, th-this is how I do it!” Gods, Judal’s trying to kill him, being all wiggly and warm and soft like that. Kougyokan swallows hard, leaning forward to suck on that nipple again, then shakily brings his hands up to peel off the little shirt, hardening to aching when he feels the naked skin of her breasts against his mouth. His hand slowly comes up, sliding down her back, resting on the small of her back. “I--I’m not like En. It won’t be like that.” _I hope that’s okay._

 

Judal fairly _purrs_ , arching her back as her hands slide up through his hair, tugging at the knot its tied up into. "Mnn, that's fine," she sighs, eyes fluttering. "But I'm jealous you've been practicing on other girls… or are you just trying to make me think that?" The only time _she's_ aware of Kougyokan having his hands on a girl was the time _she_ snuck into his bedroom, crawled under the covers, and woke him up with her mouth. After that, Kouen always made sure to pull her off of him by the scruff of her neck at every opportunity--really rude.

 

Kougyokan’s cheeks go redder than his hair. “I--En and Mei, after En caught us, they said it was time, there was--” He swallows, hoping she doesn’t _hate_ him, and rushes though the last bit. “They bought me a girl and showed me what to do, it was _really_ weird but they kept talking about how I was going to disgrace the family…”

 

"Just one? I'm surprised they didn't parade them in front of you," she sniffs, and flops forward a bit, pawing at the front of his robes to start easing them down his shoulders. "I don't mind. Just so long as I'm your favorite."

 

“Of course you’re my favorite, I don’t--I don’t even remember her name, you’re the only one I--”

 

God, no matter what he says, it’s gonna make him sound like such a lovesick fool, and he’s trying _not_ to be, been trying not to look at her all the time and imagine what she’d be like in his bed, on his arm, taking his hand and showing him the secrets of the world.

 

Something about the words _hurt_ , just a little bit.

 

It's probably the fact that if she'd heard them awhile ago, she'd have grabbed Kougyokan and run. That sounds even nicer now, but there's _risk_ , there's the fact Kougyokan could get hurt, too, because he's not like _Sinbad_ , strong and experienced and _capable_ , but--

 

"Your face is as red as your hair." In one, easy movement, Judal rolls, flopping onto her back and pulling him down after her, hands wrapped up in his hair and dragging him in to properly kiss him. "It's fine, you know." She grins. "No one can have favorites that rank over me after having me once, so I knew that already."

 

"But I didn’t.” 

 

Kougyokan feels lanky and awkward, brushing a kiss over Judal’s lips, then raising up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush her under his weight or anything. “I mean--I mean, we did kind of, but we didn’t _really_ , I mean….I never….”

 

He swallows, ducking his head down to her chest, letting one trembling hand trace down her belly, pausing at the top of one thigh. “I never really _had_ you. Not for real.”

 

Judal's eyes lid, and she slowly spreads her legs, an open invitation to let his hand slink lower as she slides one hand down his back. "You can now, then. I mean, if you want--you're shaking like a leaf, quit it," she grumbles, giving his hair a light tug. "I don't bite _that_ hard."

 

“I’m not afraid!” _Just afraid of not being good enough for you when you’ve had kings_. Kougyokan takes a deep breath, letting his hand slide against the softness of her thigh, brushing gently against the soft hairs and enticing, slippery slickness of her slit. “God. You’re so hot here.”

 

A hitching sigh escapes from her lips, and Judal wriggles, splaying her thighs a bit wider still. " _You_ did that," she mumbles, eyes fluttering. "You can… slide a finger inside, feel just how hot I am in there." 

 

That invitation makes Kougyokan _ache_ , hips twitching forward to press against her thigh. “G- _god_ ,” he breathes, and slowly unfurls a finger, sliding it down the slit, feeling the odd textures, slippery folds and hard curves of bone under skin, soft skin and silky hairs leading to the honey-sweetness of inside--and she’s right, it’s so hot inside he sucks in a breath. He looks up, meeting her eyes, wanting to know _Is this okay?_ Without asking like a blushing virgin.

 

Judal's low, rumbling groan is affirmation enough, even without the twitch and wriggle of her hips that only makes her sink further down onto that slender finger curling inside of her. "You've always had… really nice hands, Gyoku," she sighs, twisting her fingers up through his hair to knead along his scalp rather like a cat. "Wanted to know what your fingers would feel like inside me for awhile now." 

 

“Stop getting my name wrong,” Kougyokan mutters, but the claw of fingers through his hair make him bold, and he slips another finger inside of her. She’s a bit of a squeeze, and that steals his breath all over again, making him rut down against her leg like nothing more than an animal. “You--wouldn’t be doing this with a girl, would you?”

 

"Still would if you were a girl," Judal eagerly replies, whining out a breath as she slowly humps down against his hand, eyes briefly squeezing shut. Feel how _hard_ he is against her thigh makes her groan, her chest heaving. "B-besides… what's wrong with having a pretty name? Doesn't make you a girl or anything…"

 

One brief movement, and the rest of Kougyokan’s robes pool onto the floor. He takes a moment to pull back, eyes roaming up and down Judal’s body, taking in every curve, every motion, every inch of skin. “Can…” He swallows hard, hands coming to her thighs to squeeze, thumbs rubbing in little circles. “Is it okay if I put it in? En won’t stop us this time.”

 

The absence of those fingers--long, surprisingly clever, _nice_ fingers--makes Judal huff and whine, and she bites at her lip as she wriggles, arching her back as she grabs at Kougyokan's shoulders. "Want you in me," she agrees, an openly needy nod following. She snakes a hand down, grabbing for his cock. "Please--"

 

“God, _Ju_ \--”

 

Kougyokan’s voice breaks, and he lurches forward, kissing her hard and suddenly needy, sucking hard on her lip as he crawls between her legs, spreading them wide. “I’ll go easy, okay?” he breathes, eyes alight. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

 

"You've never hurt me," Judal mumbles, giving his cock a gentle _squeeze_. He's so hard in her hand that her breath hitches, and her eyes flutter at the press of the head of his cock against her, everything so slick and hot already that it makes her _ache_. "J-just… put it in, need it--"

 

Kougyokan’s eyes almost roll back into his head at the _touch_ of her against his cock, suddenly remembering how it had felt when she’d wrapped her mouth around it that fleeting, beautiful time. “Shh, I’m coming in, don’t worry,” he whispers, trying not to think about how En and Mei had teased him about his performance with that girl last month. Slowly, remembering that he’s not like the others, he’s not going to _hurt_ her, he leans forward, all his weight on his elbows as he slides in slow, eyes locked on her face the whole time.

 

That initial _slide_ is always a bit too much, making her arch up and whimper and pant. Kougyokan feels _good_ inside of her, just enough to stretch, enough to fill her up perfectly without _hurting_ , and it makes Judal all the more eager to squirm her way down, hands sliding to clutch at his back, to draw him close and against her as her thighs squeeze around his hips. "A…all the way in," she moans, a shiver raking down her spine as she pulls at his hair desperately. "P-please, wanna feel all of you--"

 

“Yeah,” Kougyokan says breathlessly, lurching up _into_ her, trying not to say something like _that’s all of me, I’m sorry it’s probably not as much as En._ That’s nothing he needs to be thinking about right now, not when Judal is sweet and wriggly and clinging to _him_ , not a king, but _him_. It’s a lot different than his first real time, more like that frantic, insane blowjob, nothing like the dry forward-and-back of the other girl. This is like riding a storm, like being caught in a whirlwind of pleasure--a whirlwind with _teeth_ , and sharp nails, and a voice that rouses him to new heights with every breathy moan.

 

Judal muffles another sound with those teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder, eyes rolling back into her head when she bucks down onto every inch of his cock. _Good good good_ is the praise she wants to offer, but she _can't_ , not when he fits inside of her so nicely, makes her body twinge and shiver when she squeezes her thighs about his waist just a bit, and Judal whimpers as she sinks her nails into Kougyokan's back, eagerly rocking down when he moves inside of her. 

 

This is _nothing_ like he’s done before.

 

Every touch of Judal’s hands, every press of her thighs around his hips, every taste of her lips, stolen between bites that only inflame him more, drives him _crazy_. Kougyokan doesn’t feel like a person anymore, just a body, a collection of feelings being driven off a cliff with every thrust into the willing, eager form below him. Every hiss of her breath, every scratch of her nails drives him harder, until only two thoughts are left in his mind--the desire to _serve her_ , to be what she wants, to bring her as much pleasure as she’s bringing him--and the need to _finish_. 

 

“Ju--” his voice is a broken, needy thing. “Need--I can’t--” That’s all he can manage in the way of apology before he starts thrusting harder, taking her swift and more roughly than he’d meant to, frantic, urgent motions rocking the bed against the wall.

 

Judal's face buries its way into Kougyokan's neck, muffling her mewls and broken, eager moans between bites when she can even manage _that_ much thought. She can't help but claw down his back, leaving stripes of red in her wake as she writhes on his cock, breath escaping as ragged, heaving pants, and when he's so deep inside of her, she just can't _think_ \--

 

Her body twitches and tightens, every muscle a tightly strung arc as she comes, whimpering as she _clings_ to him with every bit of strength she has left. 

 

Kougyokan swears he’s never been a masochist before. Then again, he’s never properly bedded Judal the Magi before.

 

Trails of fire down his back make him writhe, the _clench_ of Judal around him making him _shudder_ , and all it takes are a few ragged, uneven thrusts before he loses himself, buried deep inside her, forehead pressed to her shoulder as his back arches tight. Then the wave leaves him desperate and exhausted, and he collapses with a shaky, satiated smile, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “Sorry. Did you finish?”

 

Judal _thinks_ she nods. More than likely, she sort of lets her head loll. "The hell… are you apologizing for," she groans, squeezing her arms tighter around him to make him lie down against her. "You're good, 'm keeping."

 

A hesitant, nervous little smile spreads across his face. “Really? I’m….I mean, I know En is bigger, and he’s been with lots of girls and I’m probably all awkward and didn’t do it right, but…”

 

Her face twists, and she gives his hair an absent tug. "Bigger doesn't always feel _good_. 'specially if you don't know how to use it… and he doesn't," Judal grumpily adds. "You were good. We can do it a lot more." 

 

“Really?” 

 

The blush is back, and Kougyokan pushes the sweat-soaked hair back from his face, flopping down onto his back. “I’ll do that as much as you want,” he agrees gladly. “That was like….the best moment of my life.”

 

"… You're _reeeeeaally_ cute for an old man," Judal teases, twisting onto her side to give his chest a little poke. "That was just an appetizer. I was trying to break you in gently." 

 

Kougyokan groans, letting his head flop back. “You’re going to kill me,” he moans, sounding not at all upset with the prospect.

 

"Consider it getting in better shape!" Judal brightly returns. "You know, for conquering more dungeons. I'll go with you, even if it's cheating." 

 

Kougyokan reaches out a hand, wrapping his fingers around Judal’s. “Okay. Pick a dungeon. Any dungeon, we can go tonight.”

 

Judal makes a face at that. "But there's a festival tonight! And I wanna raise one special. I did good with Vinea, she works perfectly for you."

 

“Festival?” Kougyokan brightens, and he nods, a bit shyly. “I did bring some nice clothes. You have to fix my hair though, you made it all lopsided!”

 

"I vote on a bath!" She grins, grabbing him by the arm to haul him out of bed with _far_ too much energy. "Do you still take peach baths like a girl?" 

 

“It’s not girly!” Kougyokan protests. “Since when is smelling nice a girly thing? God, Ju, let me put some clothes on before you drag me out of here!”

 

"Oh, right, this isn't like my suite… ah, well, throw a robe on or something, we'll go to my room!" Judal cheerfully suggests. "There's a big bath and everything. It's the room they use for visiting princesses, you know--Sinbad says it's better than his room, even." 

 

Grumbling, Kougyokan tugs on a robe, pinning his hair up frantically as she drags him out. “I don’t deserve to be in a room like that,” he protests, “I’m not a princess, what if Sinbad gets mad at me?”

 

Judal blinks back at him. "But you're a prince," she logically replies. "And as pretty as a princess. He won't mind, you're one of my king candidates, after all."

 

“But I’m not _really_ ,” Kougyokan says softly, trailing after her. “Your _real_ king candidates are the ones you might choose.”

 

"You're not cute when you say things like that, Gyoku," Judal mutters, hauling him bodily into her room and shutting the door. "Didn't I say we'd go conquer dungeons together? Maybe I haven't made up my mind yet." 

 

Kougyoku tugs her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You’re cute all the time,” he says, blushing as he kisses her neck. “Vinea’s dungeon was exciting. I’ll do as many as my magoi lets me, if you think I can.”

 

"… You didn't get mad when I called you Gyoku that time," Judal points out with a grin, and turns around to snap a light bite against his shoulder. "You have more magoi than most, so it's worth a shot!"

 

Kougyokan squeals, picking Judal up around the waist and hauling her to the bathtub. “You’re horrible! Who do you pick on when I’m not around, huh?”

 

"Sinbad," she honestly answers, quite content to just be picked up and hauled around. "And his not-wife. And all his generals. And… yeah, I don't get bored."

 

“So you didn’t miss me?” Fortunately, it comes out teasing instead of plaintive. _Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of this_. He hops into the bathtub, lifting Judal in after him. “Think there’s any chance I could get seven? Like Sinbad?”

 

"Of course I _missed you_ , I can't tease you like all of them," Judal complains, flopping down into the water with a splash that sends it sloshing over the edges. She leaves her braid hanging over the side, uninterested in dealing with the lot of it. "And… I don't think you can have that many. Sinbad's weird. Don't get bent out of shape over it."

 

Kougyokan starts to ask why she doesn’t just _choose_ Sinbad already, if he’s so special, but pauses. “You….how do you choose, anyway? How does a Magi do that?”

 

"Well… I ask someone to be my king, and the person accepts." Judal leans back, sinking slowly underneath the water until it comes up to her chin. "That's about it, I guess." 

 

“Huh. How do you know it’s right?” Kougyokan takes a sliver of soap, sliding it down over Judal’s chest. “How do you know you’ve found the right person to be king? They’ll have to fight Scheherazade and Yunan’s kings eventually, right?”

 

"I dunno. I just… know. Feels right." Judal's eyes lid. "I've asked Sinbad a few times," she admits. "But he always says 'no'… because of Al-Sarmen." 

 

“You said he’d get in trouble if he says yes. So you would too?”

 

"I think it's more he just… doesn't want to." Judal sighs, leaning her head back over the tub. "Guess I can't blame him. But yeah, I think I'd get in trouble. I wanted to pick him when I was a kid, but Al-Sarmen wouldn't let me." 

 

“He’s dumb if he doesn’t want you.” Kougyokan’s hand dips lower to her belly, then her thighs. “Uh….do you clean down here special? I don’t know…”

 

Judal has to laugh at that. "Not really, the real mess of it's already inside me," she teases, wriggling a little to spread her legs. "Just a quick lather and it's done. Hey, lemme wash your hair for you, I don't want to talk about stupid kings anymore." 

 

Kougyokan wriggles down, letting his hair dip into the water. “Okay. Hey...you’re not going to get pregnant, are you? I don’t want you to get sick again.”

 

A shrug follows, and Judal crushes a few soap pearls to start lathering up his hair. "Dunno. I've stopped paying attention. I don't think I will. Like I said, Magi aren't supposed to." 

 

“Okay. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Kougyokan dips the soap a bit lower, lathering between her legs before giving it a quick rinse. “You know those kings are gonna have to have wives someday, right?”

 

Judal's face twists in annoyance. "Sinbad might as well have one," she mutters, giving Kougyokan's hair a little tug in her frustration as she scrubs. "And Kouen's got a thing for Hakuei, I know."

 

“Ow, Ju, you’re _pulling_ ,” Kougyokan yelps. “I’m sorry, I just meant--I was _trying_ to say that I’ll promise to always have time for you, be nice!”

 

"Oh. Sorry." She lessens her tugging a bit, though she still frowns. "Are they already trying to get you to marry someone?" 

 

“Not right now.” Kougyokan flexes a long leg, runs it along Judal’s. “The girl they had in mind caught the plague. They should _really_ make En and Mei get married first, but….I’m not sure they will.”

 

"En's gonna marry Hakuei, and Mei's in love with his little sister. They won't rush." Judal wriggles, poking her own foot back against Kougyokan's leg. "You could marry me and piss them off." 

 

Kougyokan strangles back the _yes_ he wants to say. “You’re just teasing me,” he mutters. “Don’t be dumb, you’d never marry me.”

 

Judal's lower lip juts in a pout. "Who says? You'd be a lot better husband than En, and even more than Sinbad. He doesn't wanna marry me, anyway."

 

Kougyokan’s face turns into a little frown, and he turns, cupping her face in soapy wet hands. His heart thuds almost out of his chest, and he asks very softly, “Well...will you marry me, then?”

 

She hardly expected _this_. Judal swallows, her face flaming in an instant. "W…what's with the sudden intensity?" she manages, batting his hands away. " _You're_ the one that doesn't want to marry _me_ , I'm… it isn't like I can give you a fleet of sons or--"

 

“Like I need a fleet of sons!” Kougyokan’s not sure if his face has _ever_ felt so hot, but he closes his hands over hers, holding them tight. “I’m the third son, if I want to take a goddess as my princess it’s okay!”

 

"I-I'm--" Judal swallows harder still, blinking a little in an attempt to steady herself. "You… no one ever calls me a goddess anymore," she mumbles, her eyes flickering away. _Except you._

 

“Is--” Kougyokan swallows hard. “Is that a no?”

 

"No! I mean--no, it's not a no, it's--" Judal flops back a bit. "Don't want you to get in trouble." 

 

“If it’s for you, it’s okay.” The sound of his heart isn’t getting any quieter, and Kougyokan’s hands tighten. “Tell me you will? Or you won’t? Just--it’s okay if I get in trouble. We could run away.”

 

"I… want to," Judal slowly manages, her face flushing hotter still. Now that she's _said it_ , it's supposed to be easier. It's not. "Really want to." She swallows. "But I don't think I can." 

 

“Oh.” Kougyokan tries to smile. It doesn’t come out quite right. “Well….if you ever want me to ask you again, let me know?”

 

"Don't make that face." She switches their grip, hands squeezing tight over his. "You say it's okay to get in trouble, but it's _not_. You're not… even if you get another djinn, I don't think that's enough to make Al-Sarmen stay away." Judal huffs, releasing his hands. "I don't even think Sinbad can make them go away… and that's why he won't ever let me choose him."

 

“I’d let you.” Kougyokan lets out a frustrated huff, and leans down to kiss Judal’s fingers. “Or we could work with Al-Sarmen. I don’t _like_ them, but they’re all over Kou, maybe they wouldn’t mind so much.”

 

Judal hesitates, frowning again. She's far from _keen_ on the idea of dealing with Al-Sarmen again after all that's happened, but there's no denying it would be _easier_ … "I don't think they'd accept you as my king. Or husband. Or anything. Dumb, but…"

 

“Just En, huh?” Slowly, Kougyokan lets go of her hands. “If it’ll ruin your life to choose anyone else, I should probably stop asking.”

 

"… Don't wanna choose him," she finally, quietly admits. "It's wrong."

 

“Judal...you’re powerful. Way more powerful than anyone in Al-Sarmen, way more powerful than any of us.” Kougyokan leans over, kissing her cheek. “If we ran away, maybe they wouldn’t find us. And if it feels wrong to choose En, you can’t, right?”

 

"Yeah, but…" Kougyokan's _right_ of course, but there's still that unshakeable _worry_. Judal chews on her lower lip, annoyed with herself more than anything. "I'll think about it," she decides. "If we decide to run away, then I'll make Sinbad marry us before we do, like _real_ runaways." 

 

That’s exciting, and Kougyokan gives her a real kiss, raising waves as they wriggle against each other in the bath. “That sounds really good. I’m sick of being the third prince anyway, no one ever listens to me.”

 

"Because your name should've been Kougyoku, it's prettier," Judal returns without batting an eye. "No one's gonna respect a guy called Kougyokan." 

 

“No one listens to most of the girls either,” Kougyokan mutters, sinking mostly below the water. “Just En and Mei and Ha, they’re their own little family.”

 

"Ha's creepy and mean, though. Especially for a girl." 

 

Kougyokan looks around, making sure no one is looking and curls up closer, whispering, “Ha and En got in a fight a couple weeks ago. It’s why he was mad enough to let me come.”

 

Judal blinks at that, and leans her head to the side to butt it against Kougyokan's. "Yeah? About what? Did Mei knock her up?" 

 

“I think so. They were yelling about whether she was gonna go to the Healers or not, it got really crazy.”

 

A slow whistle escapes at that. "Geez, I was _joking_. What a mess, she's no older than _you_. Take responsibility, Mei." 

 

Kougyokan shrugs. “I’m not sure if he knew. I don’t really know anything, I just heard Ha yelling and En punching the walls. I left the next day.”

 

"… Wonder what it's like to actually _want it_ ," Judal mumbles in spite of herself, her eyes slowly shutting. 

 

“Well….you’re really young still,” Kougyokan points out. “Maybe in like ten or twenty years you might. Or--you’re a Magi, maybe in like a hundred years! You’ll probably get sick of everyone alive by then, right?”

 

"Already sick of most people." Judal turns her head, staring up at him through her lashes. "I just like you, and Sinbad, and everyone else is fun to pick on. Except Freckles, I don't like her even if I pick on her." 

 

 _Freckles_? Kougyokan frowns, thinking about that nickname. “Mei?”

 

"Nah, Sinbad's not-wife, his advisor thing." Judal's face twists in irritation. "Short and tiny except for huge boobs, you can't miss her, especially now that they had a _kid_ together." 

 

“Jealous?” Kougyokan bites back the word, wrapping his arms around Judal’s waist. “I don’t care if you never have kids, you know. I don’t really like them, they’re really loud and gross.”

 

"They really aaaare, and I was throwing up like every day, all day, and felt super gross and I got stretch marks and I _looked_ gross," Judal bemoans, flinging her arms around him to squeeze tight. "Can we not? Don't wanna."

 

“So we won’t.” That draws a little laugh, and Kougyokan tightens his arms. “It stinks, En wants them so bad and can’t have them, and I can have them and don’t want them at all. At least not right now, maybe when I’m a _lot_ older.” He kisses Judal’s cheek again. “You’re getting pruny, we should get out.”

 

"Maybe I like being a prune. Worms are pruny," Judal grumps, but nevertheless slowly makes to claw her way out of the tub. "Sometimes, I wish I could just stay in Sindria forever," she absently admits. "It's nice here."

 

“The weather _is_ really nice,” Kougyokan agrees. “If we ever get married we can stay here. If Sinbad will let me, I mean.”

 

 _Just don't want Al-Sarmen to blow it up._ "Yeah. We can do that." She yawns, stretching like a cat, and wriggles her toes in what is supposed to be a come hither. "Let's crash for a bit, before the festival and all."

 

“Yeah. I want to test out this super awesome princess bed.” Kougyokan stands, toweling off and extending a hand to help Judal out. “The beds on ship are _awful_. I couldn’t stretch out anywhere.”

 

"Perfect for _two_ princesses," Judal agrees with a grin. "You'll like it, you can stretch out all you want. Sorry if I snore, though." 

 

“You always snore.” Rather than say anything about the _other_ comment, Kougyokan flops down onto the bed, sprawling out and extending a hand in invitation.

 

"Sinbad's louder." Judal flops down next to him in short order, snuggling up into his side with a content sound. "You're a good pillow, though. I'll keep you." 


End file.
